


The Way Back Home

by Anakinstopyourpanakin, happygiraffe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bant & Tahl bonding, Bechdel Test Pass, Emotions 101 for Jedi, Everybody Lives, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, PTSD, Past Torture, Qui-Gon means well but sometimes he's a butt, Sick Obi-Wan, and he will get many hugs, but the kind of Fix-It where you have to break it first, ends heavy on the fluff, healthy attitudes about mental illness, protective Qui-Gon, selective mutism, starts heavy on the angst, this is slowly becoming a Fix-It au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anakinstopyourpanakin/pseuds/Anakinstopyourpanakin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/happygiraffe/pseuds/happygiraffe
Summary: He had been missing for nearly four years. How could Obi-Wan be alive? It was too good to be true, and simultaneously too horrifying. What had been done to the innocent child who was currently falling asleep against his shoulder, and did his wounds run too deep for Qui-Gon to mend?





	1. Unidentified

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started for Nanowrimo 2017! The first three chapters were posted completely raw and unedited, then underwent major editing during our December hiatus. Now that things are sorted out, updates should be slow but steady!

Dr. Fahra Tiaurn heard the nurse’s footsteps pause in the doorway behind her and cursed under her breath. This must be about the man in the waiting room again.

“Barlen, tell him the child is in stable condition, and that’s the only information we are releasing at the moment.”

“I-I already did,” Barlen stammered. The foreigner clad in long beige robes had come storming in half an hour ago demanding to see the unidentified patient that Tiaurn was examining.

Tiaurn sighed. Most days she did not miss her time as a field medic one bit – in the county hospital she had a ward of 20 beds to oversee and much less to cope with in terms of violent, young deaths – but at least in the Jacquen Interplanetary Army she’d never had to deal with karking family members.

“Then please tell him again,” she said with forced poise. Tiaurn liked Barlen well enough, though he was a bit timid. She almost regretted sending him back to face the belligerent stranger.

The doctor returned her attention to the patient on her exam table. He was a human, male, mid-teens, and given the behavior of the police who brought him in, apparently the victim of some high-profile crime. Long, filthy lacerations scored every inch of the child’s back. He’d been in a lot of pain when he arrived, kicking and struggling and sobbing inconsolably. The doctor had sedated him with anger burning in her heart. Tiaurn considered herself fairly unflappable, but this case was testing the limits of her professionalism.

It was hard not to think about how methodically the shallow wounds were placed, clearly not to kill but to torture.

Tiaurn held her revulsion at arm’s length and focused on writing an objective report for her records. The child was severely underweight and anemic. The wounds on his wrists suggested that he’d been tied up, and his lungs sounded horrible. She’d ordered scans and bloodwork, but felt sure they would return a diagnosis of pneumonia left untreated for gods knew how long. He’d been kept somewhere damp and foul judging by the conjunctivitis and macerated rashes on his skin. How a humanoid could allow another humanoid to reach this state was beyond her.

Typing into her datapad as she went, Tiaurn carefully checked him over for internal injuries. He was straining to breathe through his congested lungs, though Tiaurn was glad to see that the nasal oxygen treatment was easing his struggle somewhat.

She heard footsteps again, and knew without looking to whom they belonged.

“Barlen, call security if you have to.”

“No, he’s calmed down…he contacted his home planet, but they can’t get him the DNA file right away. Can’t we at least let him confirm that this is his kid?”

“Not legally,” the doctor sighed. The police chief’s instructions had been explicit. For all they knew, this man could be a suspect…or he could be an anxious father, desperate to know whether his child was safe. “But let’s get everything prepared for as soon as he has the file.”

She set Barlen to work hooking up an IV while she dug out a DNA collection kit and swabbed the inside of the patient’s cheek. “Let’s hope it’s a match,” she said quietly to the unconscious child.

Barlen and another nurse prepared to move the patient to a treatment room, where they would clean and dress his wounds. Tiaurn saw them on their way before she steeled herself to face the man who had been terrorizing the nursing staff. She really did loathe talking to family members.

The man in question sat in the corner of the waiting room, his broad shoulders hunched forward with his forearms on his knees. He lifted a grief-stricken face to meet Tiaurn’s gaze.

The doctor inhaled steadily. “Mr. Jinn?”

* * *

 

Obi-Wan had been on Qui-Gon’s mind more than usual all day.

Qui-Gon permitted himself a rueful smile. He knew the Council had hoped Jacquen would be a distraction rather than a reminder, and yet as he trudged through the dim and musty halls, fatigued in muscle and in spirit, he longed more than ever for the comfort of his padawan by his side. Obi-Wan was a phantom pain that had never truly left him.

“Master Jedi,” said the exasperated police captain from the doorway. “There will be time to see to the bodies later.”

Qui-Gon paid her no mind. He sensed there was something that he did not yet know. Something he trusted would be revealed to him soon.

He knelt beside the corpse of a Mon Cal woman with her hands tied behind her back, the most recent victim in a string of torture and murder cases that had spanned five different systems. He pulled out a small handheld device to check her fingerprints against the list of known victims.

 “Master Jedi,” the captain repeated, leaning against the doorframe. Her department had been grateful for the Jedi Order’s offer of help, but she wasn’t sure the agent they’d sent understood the amount of painstaking legwork that had gone into this capture.

Qui-Gon’s scanner pinged as it found the matching police report. The victim was a Mon Cala native who had gone missing six months ago. She had not been affiliated with the Jedi, but she had been strong in the Force. So far, all the victims had been Force-sensitive in some way, which was why the Jedi Order had taken an interest. There was emergency contact information in the report. Qui-Gon was relieved. Her family deserved to know what had happened to her.

The Force was behaving strangely in this decrepit den. The officers had explained that centuries ago this had been a state prison, but the wood had grown up around it and engulfed it until the neighboring towns all but forgot it had existed. Why had the Force lead him here? What was he meant to see?

The truth was, the promptings of the Living Force were not as easily decipherable to Qui-Gon as they had once been. His vision was often clouded by the impatience and anger he kept near to his heart. He had never quite forgiven the Jedi Council for closing the case of Obi-Wan’s apparent murder and holding a memorial. There was no denying that the circumstances had looked grim. Obi-Wan had been involved in a violent skirmish on Vanquor several years ago, and no trace of him alive or otherwise had ever been found. His Force bond with his master had gone silent within weeks, and the search teams’ leads had run out within months. Even Qui-Gon could not pretend there was much hope.

Still, it was easier to resent the Council than confront the truth.

 “If the suspect gets wind of our presence, he will flee. It may take us months to track him down again,” the captain reminded him testily.

Qui-Gon rose, stoic and silent. A tiny green light on the captain’s earpiece lit up, and Qui-Gon knew she was receiving a transmission from one of the teams outside. “They have all exits covered,” she relayed. “Now is our best shot.”

Qui-Gon stowed the scanner in his pocket and lay one hand on the hilt of his lightsaber. “Then let us move quickly.”

He ignored the officer’s exasperated huff and followed her deeper into the prison.

They were relatively certain that the suspect had been living in the guard’s barracks in the southern end of the building. There were two hallways which connected these to the main corridor. The captain sent Qui-Gon and a young cadet down one side and took the other for herself. She would enter and approach the man first, but they were to be ready to provide backup if necessary.

“Remember,” she said as their paths diverged. “Our first priority is to stop this man, at all costs.”

“The Jedi Council wants him alive,” Qui-Gon reminded her. They were keen to discover what his particular interest in Force users was, and whether he was acting alone.

“That’s best case scenario, yes,” the captain asserted, in a tone that let Qui-Gon know how much she cared that the Jedi Council got what they wanted.

Qui-Gon frowned in acceptance and turned down the dark hallway. This section of the building looked slightly less liable to cave in on top of them, but it was still saturated with the reek of rust and decay.

After a short distance, the boy piped up, “This isn’t the way.” Qui-Gon thought his name was Alten or something of that sort.

Qui-Gon realized with a jolt that Alten was right. He blinked as he studied their shadowy surroundings. They stood not the passageway to the barracks, but in another hallway lined with cells. Qui-Gon smiled. It was not in his nature to question the guidance of the Force – not then, and not now.

“Master Jedi?” Alten protested.

Qui-Gon ignored him. He placed his palm against a heavy metal door, and that felt _right_ , strangely. He was making progress. With careful application of the Force, he slid the door aside.

The cell was windowless and even darker than the corridor. Qui-Gon could barely make out a small form propped up against the wall. His gut twisted. He had seen enough brutalized corpses already today.

As Qui-Gon drew closer, he realized that this victim had been a human child, stark naked and bound just as the Mon Cal woman had been. The restraints only afforded them a few inches of movement, not even enough slack to lie down properly. Qui-Gon guessed that their death had not been a quick one.

As Qui-Gon knelt and reached for his scanner, he heard a tiny cough.

[ _Jinn, confirm your location_ ,] said the captain’s voice in his ear. Qui-Gon thought about answering it, but the child before him coughed again, a weak, gasping sound. Qui-Gon hurriedly pressed two fingers to the inside of their wrist. Despite the utter lack of a Force presence, the child had a pulse.

“Force,” Qui-Gon cursed, shedding his cloak and wrapping it around the child’s bony shoulders. None of the previous victims had been found alive. Now that Qui-Gon listened, he could just barely hear their shallow breaths.

“Hello, can you hear me?” urged Qui-Gon as he pulled a small knife from his boot and reached for the ties that bound the child’s wrists. They flinched violently away from his outstretched hand.

“Easy now, I want to help you. I’m a Jedi—“

“No ‘m not,” the child cried, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jus’ a padawan, I don’t know—please—“

The voice slammed into Qui-Gon like a hovertrain. It sounded like…but it couldn’t be…the face was distorted with swollen bruises, but that chin, the mole on his brow…

“Obi-Wan?” It came out as a strangled whisper.

The child didn’t react to the name, and simply mouthed ‘Please’ again.

[ _JINN!]_ hollered the voice from the earpiece, but Qui-Gon did not hear it.

Qui-Gon cut the bonds and gathered Obi-Wan to his chest, cradling his head. All he could choke out was, “I’ve got you. Dear Force, I’ve got you now.”

Obi-Wan appeared to have passed out. Qui-Gon shook him again, as hard as he dared, but the padawan would not rouse.

Qui-Gon lifted Obi-Wan carefully with one arm around his waist and the other through the crooks of his knees.

The young officer was distraught when Qui-Gon rushed back into the hallway. “Master Jedi, they’re in pursuit, they need our help to—”

“He needs medical attention _now_ ,” Qui-Gon interrupted.

“He…” the boy gaped at the bundle in Qui-Gon’s arms. “He’s alive?”

“Obviously,” Qui-Gon roared.

Shouts echoed further down the hallway.

[ _Jinn, you better have that_ karking _exit covered_ ]

The shouts and heavy footfalls were growing closer. Qui-Gon made a split-second decision. He turned and transferred Obi-Wan into Alten’s arms, the boy automatically reaching out to receive the burden before he had the chance to realize what was happening.

“Run,” Qui-Gon told him with a clap on the shoulder. “Get out of here, whatever it takes.”

“But—”

“RUN!” Qui-Gon didn’t pause to watch the young man go. He turned in the opposite direction and ignited his lightsaber.

The suspect burst into the corridor with something in his fist – perhaps a small blaster? He hesitated when he spotted Qui-Gon, but two police officers were on his heels. Then Qui-Gon’s ears popped and the world turned white-hot.

* * *

 

Qui-Gon became aware of a sharp pain in his ears. He calmly began to take stock of himself. He determined that he was able to roll onto his back and sit up without issue. No broken bones, evidently. There seemed to be some blood dripping from his chin. All in all, not too serious.

No sooner had Qui-Gon finished that assessment than he began to remember how he had gotten here. The mission, the botched arrest. The kidnapper blowing himself to bits rather than be taken into custody. The tortured boy in the cell who had sounded exactly like…

Qui-Gon pushed himself to his feet, ignoring how his head pounded.

“Hey!” someone called to him. They beckoned from across the wreckage by the main highway, where some police speeders were gathered.

Qui-Gon stumbled down to them, climbing through rubble and undergrowth. “The boy,” he blurted out when he reached the responders who were still searching for survivors. “Where is he?”

“Jinn, what the hell?” the captain demanded when she saw him. She was seated on the edge of one of the speeders while a medic cleaned a gash on her shoulder. “Make sure you let your precious Council know why we don’t have a suspect for them to interrogate,” she continued.

“But…the boy, did Alten—”

“Alten already left for the medcenter, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

“Where’s the medcenter?” Qui-Gon pressed. “Never mind!” He spotted an airtaxi passing by and flagged it down, barking directions at the driver.

Qui-Gon staggered into the atrium of the medcenter, and panted, “Is he alive?”

He vaguely heard the receptionist respond affirmatively, but his mind was reeling. The child had sounded exactly like Obi-Wan, but Qui-Gon had not gotten a proper look in the dusky light.

Qui-Gon searched his feelings for any sign of Obi-Wan’s presence, but their bond was as silent as always. Could it have been a mistake? He had to look again, in broad light, and assure himself that the child’s face was one he did not recognize. But they wouldn’t let him in, they wouldn’t tell him anything. He was pretty sure he had said something rude, but it seemed detached from the confusion he felt. How was he supposed to let go of this ridiculous hope if they wouldn’t let him see the child?

He had tried to contact Coruscant, and that had been a nightmare. What if he really were delusional? Qui-Gon’s head felt light and he realized he was sweating. He sank down into an uncomfortable chair and inhaled deeply. The Force had guided him to that particular cell and this particular mission, and it would guide him wherever this path led next.

Just as Qui-Gon felt he could stand it no longer, a voice beckoned to him.

“Mr. Jinn?”


	2. An Impossible Truth

The man called Jinn looked absolutely devastated as the doctor stood before him in the waiting room. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. Dr. Tiaurn motioned for him to follow.

The man’s peculiar wool cloak billowed behind him as she led him into her office. He glanced around, as if he thought the patient would be hiding behind the door.

“Have a seat. I understand you have a DNA file of the missing child you believe is in our care?”

“Yes,” said Jinn gruffly, placing a memory stick on her desk. “Can I see him?”

 “I am not at will to allow that. Even my staff are on a need-to-know basis because of the police investigation.”

“I’m a part of that investigation,” Jinn growled. He reached into the pocket of his enormous robe and produced an identification card. All official visitors to Jacquen carried one. Jinn’s bore the city police insignia in the corner and stated that he was a temporary special consultant.

“I thought you were family?” Tiaurn raised an eyebrow carefully.

“I am.” The man stated. “You _will_ take me to him,” he hissed as though he thought by saying it he could make it so.

“Have a seat,” Tiaurn repeated.

Tiaurn plugged the memory stick into her analyzer alongside the DNA she had collected from her patient.

Qui-Gon couldn’t stop his heart from racing as the tiny machine hummed. Tahl’s words echoed in his ears.

_“Qui-Gon,” she had breathed when he had finished his story. The crease in her brow was neither shock nor joy, it was pity._

_“I know,” said Qui-Gon. “I need you to get his medical record from the archives, the doctors here need to see some sort of proof of guardianship. And we should notify the Council…”_

_“Qui, I don’t think you should involve the Council in this,” said Tahl sharply._

_Qui-Gon cocked his head as if he didn’t understand. “I don’t see how we can keep it from them,”_

_“Qui-Gon,” Tahl repeated. “I think you need to come home. Ask the Council to assign someone else to this mission. Don’t tell them everything you’ve told me—just that you need more time.”_

_“It’s not as if we can jump in my ship and fly to Coruscant, Tahl, Obi-Wan will require medical transportation.”_

_Tahl closed her eyes, even though she could not see him. “Qui, Obi-Wan is gone. You know that.”_

_Qui-Gon stared. “But…” a spark of anger flared in his chest. “I saw him!”_

_“Are you sure?” the sympathy in Tahl’s voice only spurred Qui-Gon’s temper. “Can you sense him in the Force? Through your bond?”_

_Qui-Gon opened and closed his mouth_

_“I’m so sorry. I thought you were past this, or else I wouldn’t have urged you to take on this mission. It was too soon.”_

_“Please send me the records, Tahl. I can’t—they won’t let me in. I need his DNA file.”_

_“Alright,” said Tahl tentatively. “But Qui-Gon, comm me when you get the results,” her voice softened as if to imply that she knew exactly what those results would be. “You will be fine. We will get through this.”_

_“Tahl, listen—”_

_“Comm me.”_

_The projector switched off._

A sickening feeling welled up from the pit of Qui-Gon’s stomach, and his arms gripped the sides of the chair. Tahl no longer trusted his senses—and with good reason.

He had not felt so much as a flicker of life from Obi-Wan’s side of their shared Force bond in years. Furthermore, he should have immediately sensed the presence of his bondmate when he entered the building. There had to have been some mistake. He had deluded himself this far, and when reality set in, it was going to sting.

A cheerful beep pulled Qui-Gon from his contemplation. His breath caught painfully in his throat.

He slowly met the doctor’s gaze.

“It’s a match,” Tiaurn said quietly.

Qui-Gon pushed the breath he had been holding out through his nose. He leaned back in the chair.

“Are you alright?”

The world was spinning again. Qui-Gon knew he must look a sight, color draining rapidly from his face. It was true then, all of it.

“Obi-Wan,” he whispered.

And just like that, the mystery patient had a name. _Obi-Wan_. Tiaurn smiled sympathetically. “You may be experiencing some shock. That’s completely understandable for a parent in your situation. Just—” Jinn glowered at her. “Try to breathe slowly.”

“Is he…is he going to survive?” asked Jinn in a hoarse whisper.

“There’s no reason he shouldn’t recover with time,” Tiaurn assured him. She was watching the man’s face carefully. “Mr. Jinn, how long ago did Obi-Wan go missing?”

 Jinn paused as if mentally calculating the time. “Three years and…seven months,” he decided.

_Gods._

“Please—” There was no trace of the man’s demanding tone from before.

Tiaurn nodded her concession. “Just for a few minutes. He’s sedated anyway, and we aren’t finished treating his wounds.” She led him through a series of short corridors, then paused before a swinging door and turned around.

“Do not be alarmed by what you see,” she warned Jinn. “You will be surprised what a few days of bacta treatment and antibiotics can accomplish.”

“What do you mean?”

Tiaurn did not elaborate, but Qui-Gon soon understood. His first, sickening thought was that Obi-Wan looked even more like a corpse sprawled out on the metal table all jutting bones and ashen skin. Any remaining doubt assuaged, Qui-Gon clamped a hand over his mouth. Obi-Wan’s wounds had been bathed and smeared with bacta gel, but under the bright lights Qui-Gon could see all the cuts and scabs and purple-grey bruises he had not noticed before.

Qui-Gon crossed the room slowly until he stood by Obi-Wan’s head, staring down at him in disbelief. He pressed the backs of his fingers to Obi-Wan’s cheek in a gentle caress.

“Our scanners indicate that he is about seventeen years old, is that accurate, Mr. Jinn?” asked the doctor behind him.

“Seven…” Qui-Gon had to think about it. Obi-Wan had been a few weeks shy of his fourteenth birthday when he’d been lost. Seventeen? How could that be possible? “Yes, that’s correct.” He paused to clear his throat. “And I’m not his father.”

Tiaurn looked startled. “Apologies. Is there a parent or guardian we should—”

“Me. He might as well be my son, we share a bond.” _A bond that’s been stone-cold and silent for years. Force forgive me, I thought—we all thought—_

Obi-Wan was seventeen. He looked even younger now than Qui-Gon remembered him—smaller, weaker. His hair was short and scraggly and missing patches where there were wounds on his scalp.

His padawan braid was gone, too. That was the final injustice that set Qui-Gon’s shoulders shaking.

He felt Tiaurn’s hand on his elbow, surprisingly supportive. “You should go,” she murmured. “You can see him again when he wakes.”

Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan’s shoulder a final pat before allowing himself to be led from the room. Tiaurn steered him gently to a small room with an assortment of loveseats and tiny tables. “I know that was a lot to take in, but with the bacta the majority of the open wounds should heal over by tomorrow. The older ones will scar, but they aren’t as deep as they look. Mr. Jinn—”

“Qui-Gon’s fine,” he grumbled. “If you’re going to be his primary physician, I’m going to have to trust you.”

“Qui-Gon,” Tiaurn amended. “I will do my best to keep you in the loop.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be in touch,” said Tiaurn, giving him one final, appraising look.

She left Qui-Gon alone to process what he had seen. He pulled his communicator from his robes and saw that Tahl had left a message.

_Qui-Gon, comm me._

He ignored it.

Qui-Gon passed the rest of the afternoon pacing around the lounge, avoiding eye contact with other visitors who came and went. At one point, his datapad had pinged, and he saw that an archivist droid had fulfilled Tahl’s data request and sent Obi-Wan’s complete medical record. Qui-Gon wandered to the administrative office and gave them the file. Then he wandered the corridors of the hospital just for something to do. He bought a ration bar from a dimly lit vending machine, but found that he could only bring himself to nibble at a corner of it. He pulled out his datapad and re-opened the message from Tahl just to close it again.

Finally, Qui-Gon returned to the lounge and sank into one of the loveseats. He sat with his elbows on his knees, wondering what in the galaxy he was going to do.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there when he heard his name being called.

“Qui-Gon,” Dr. Tiaurn repeated. “I wanted to touch base with you before I head home. I’ve just had a look at Obi-Wan, he’s holding steady. We’re going to keep him down for the night, let the bacta do its job, but you can be with him tomorrow when he wakes up.”

Qui-Gon blinked as he absorbed that mix of information. “Th-thank you,” he stammered.

“And Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon tilted his head in reply.

“The medical file you turned in…it’s from the Jedi Healers.”

“Yes.”

“So when you said you shared a bond, you meant…”

“Yes. We are connected through the Force, and can sense one another’s thoughts—or at least, we could.” His expression darkened.

Tiaurn frowned. “You may not be his father, but this is a lot for any caregiver to process, Qui-Gon. Is there someone you could call for support?”

Qui-Gon grunted noncommittally.

“You are free to stay, obviously. But it will be a long night for you here by yourself. Go home, or at least call someone. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Qui-Gon nodded appreciatively and watched her leave.

In the end, Qui-Gon gathered his things and made sure his comm frequency was entered into Obi-Wan’s file, so they could reach him if anything happened. Even though it was already dark, he walked home instead of taking an airtaxi.

He didn’t even turn the lights on when he climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to the modest apartment the Intersystem Investigation Unit had put him up in. He threw the keys on the counter and collapsed onto the lumpy couch as if a heavy weight had been dropped upon him all at once.

His last thought was that he would never get to sleep with so much on his mind to process. Almost instantly afterwards, he fell asleep anyways.

* * *

 

Qui-Gon awoke to the uncomfortable realization that he was still fully dressed, even wearing his boots, with ash and dust in his hair from the explosion. He took a quick sonic and pulled on fresh clothes in a groggy haze, then hurried back to the medcenter. All the staff on duty were different than the night before, and he had to explain the whole story and wave his visitor ID at three different security guards just to find out which ward Obi-Wan was in.

Obi-Wan was tucked in neatly like a doll with his arms on top of the covers. He was restrained to the bed with a padded belt and his wrists cuffed to the side rails. Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows at the nurse.

“They are just a precaution,” she explained. “There must have been a concern about his mental condition the last time he was lucid.”

It still turned Qui-Gon’s stomach, but he let the issue drop. Obi-Wan was alive and safe, and in the clarity of the morning that seemed less like a nightmare and more like a miracle

“He had his last dose of sedative around 0500,” the nurse informed him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts to come around soon.”

Qui-Gon placed his hand over Obi-Wan’s and waited. He stroked the side of Obi-Wan’s hand with his thumb, trying to picture his face without the swollen bruises and nasal cannula. In spite of all the equipment, Obi-Wan breathing slow and peacefully. Safe. Qui-Gon would have been content to spend an eternity watching the boy sleep.

He would have, but he did not. The first time Obi-Wan’s fingers twitched against Qui-Gon’s hand, the old master’s heart leapt. “Obi-Wan,” he whispered.

Obi-Wan’s eyelids fluttered. Qui-Gon tutted encouragingly. “Wake up, lad.”

Obi-Wan came awake gradually. He didn’t seem surprised to see his master beaming over him – in fact, he frowned in return. He attempted to reach up, but his wrists pulled against the soft cuffs. A machine by the bed chirped in warning as Obi-Wan's heartrate climbed.

The image of Obi-Wan restrained in his filthy cell rose unbidden to Qui-Gon’s mind. Of course Obi-Wan did not understand what was happening to him. “Obi-Wan, this is a hospital.”

Obi-Wan had not heard, he was busy discovering the belt around his middle as well. He collapsed back into the mattress, breathing hard and too frightened to move.

“Alright, alright, I’ll take them off.” Qui-Gon hastily put down the side rail of the bed and reached for the restraints. Obi-Wan squirmed away from his touch, breaking into a coughing fit as Qui-Gon fought to get the straps unbuckled. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Qui-Gon reached out to his padawan with the Force, but to no avail. “I am here now to protect you.”

“You can’t”, Obi-Wan croaked. Qui-Gon tried to take his hand, but Obi-Wan shied away and slid off the side of the bed, sinking to the floor when his legs wouldn’t bear his weight.

“Obi-Wan, you are safe.”

“You’ll just disappear when he comes back,” Obi-Wan sulked.

“He’s not coming back, lad. He’s dead,” said Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan backed himself up against the wall, yanking the leads off his chest. The equipment beside his bed began to shriek. He gave the IV a tug as well, but the tape held fast and it hurt so he let go of it. “You’re _me_. I’m lying to myself.”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon ventured. “This…is real. I am real.” He reached out and took Obi-Wan’s hand more forcefully this time, squeezing it as if to prove how solid and tangible he was.

Obi-Wan stared at the hand holding his, then lifted his gaze to Qui-Gon’s face as if taking it in for the first time. He reached up and touched the cut on Qui-Gon’s jaw, which had barely scabbed over since the explosion. His fingers explored the wound, digging in a bit with a jagged fingernail, but Qui-Gon did not flinch.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe with me now.”

Tears welled up in Obi-Wan’s reddened eyes.

Qui-Gon felt his emotions clamming up, pushing the guilt and horror and wonder further and further down inside himself. Obi-Wan looked so tiny pressed up against the wall in his plain hospital pajamas, broken inside and out. It was too much to bear. On some level he already felt himself mentally recoiling from the source of pain.

A nurse strode into the room and was taken aback by the sight of Obi-Wan crouched on the floor, grasping Qui-Gon’s hand as the older man leaned over the bed. Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed with renewed terror when he saw her.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” Qui-Gon placated.

“You have no business being out of bed, dear,” she said softly, shooting Qui-Gon a glare.

Qui-Gon climbed over the bed to crouch next to him while the nurse approached from the other side. Feeling cornered, Obi-Wan began to pant, triggering a fit of coughs that resonated deep in his lungs. He flinched when Qui-Gon put an arm around his shoulders, his master still whispering soft reassurances that had lost all meaning. He did not fight as the nurse took his hand and pushed something through the IV line.

They worked on regulating his breathing while the sedative took effect. When Obi-Wan seemed calm, Qui-Gon half-lifted him back into bed and the nurse replaced the leads that he had torn off.

“The restraints are for his safety, sir,” the nurse snapped. "We use them as minimally as possible." Qui-Gon was barely listening. He was watching Obi-Wan’s face as she buckled him back into the bed, but the boy was dazed and pliable as she handled him.

The nurse noticed a drop of blood trickling through Qui-Gon’s beard. “Did he scratch you?”

“No, this is from yesterday.”

She handed him a tissue and a bottle of bacta gel. Qui-Gon accepted the former to clean up the blood, but shook his head when she continued to hold out the bottle towards him.

“If you wait, it might scar,” she warned.

Qui-Gon glanced down at Obi-Wan who was already half asleep, and remembered his quiet fascination with the wound. Likely, it was what had set him apart from the hallucinated version of Qui-Gon the boy was accustomed to seeing. “Let it scar, then.”

Qui-Gon felt bile rising in his throat as he resumed his seat by Obi-Wan’s bedside, knowing they would start back at square one the next time Obi-Wan awoke. He had been foolish to think it would be as simple as mending Obi-Wan’s physical wounds. They had an awfully long way to go.


	3. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! This work has undergone a major rewrite since we discontinued real-time updates during Nanowrimo. Posting raw, unedited work written by two people with varying styles and ideas just proved to be too messy. We hoped that by taking a step back, reorganizing and compromising, we could give you all a better quality story.
> 
> That said, if you haven't read through since November, you may want to consider checking out the rewritten version!
> 
> If you're still here and haven't lost patience with us yet, thank you immensely!  
> 

“I just don’t know, Tahl,” sighed Mace Windu, setting his utensils down on his empty lunch tray. “He’s always been liable to ignore messages when he’s in one of his moods. Even before.”

“I still have a bad feeling about this time,” Tahl insisted. Qui-Gon had not picked up his comm since she sent him Obi-Wan’s medical file.

Mace regarded the Noorian Master carefully. Intuitions were not to be heedlessly cast aside, but one generally did not alter a routine mission based on a bad feeling.

“When I spoke to him, he seemed…unbalanced,” said Tahl. She did not elaborate. Mace was an old friend to them both, but he was still a member of the Council. And despite the Council’s good intentions the last time Qui-Gon had been ill, their involvement had done more harm than good.

“I am not sure he is still entirely focused on the mission,” Tahl ventured.

 “That is troubling,” Mace admitted. Although Tahl could not see his expression, she felt suspicion rising in him. He knew she was withholding information. “The Council likely will not vote to interfere with his mission unless there is some proof of this.”

He waited for her to elaborate on what she knew, but Tahl would not yield. At least not until she had spoken to Qui-Gon again.

“If the Council will not summon him back, perhaps I should go myself.”

Mace nodded slowly. The Council would have no authority to prevent her from doing so.

“Meditate carefully on this, Tahl. I shall also.”

“I will.”

She heard Mace gather his things and cross the cafeteria to return his tray.

That evening, Bant caught her master packing what could only be an overnight bag. Their missions had been fewer but more advanced these past few months, as Bant prepared to take her Trials of Knighthood.

“Has the Council summoned us?” she asked tentatively. As a senior padawan, she should have been included in the briefing were that the case.

“No,” said Tahl. “It is not Jedi business. I am going on a short trip.”

“Alone?”

Tahl bristled. “I am a perfectly capable pilot. There are audio controls, and TooJay.”

Whenever possible Tahl preferred not to use 2J-TJ, her overbearing guide droid, especially because over many years she had honed her senses to navigate the world without sight. In open space, however, her specially-designed ship controls were not enough. She would need TooJay’s visual capabilities for safety’s sake.

“I know, Master,” said Bant hurriedly. It was not Tahl’s ability that she doubted. “I only meant, why haven’t they asked both of us along?”

“The Council is not involved,” Tahl insisted, zipping up her bag and turning to face the padawan. She lay an affectionate hand on Bant’s shoulder. Bant’s apprenticeship had gotten off to a rocky start; it had begun shortly after Tahl was blinded and in her desperation to appear self-reliant, she had pushed the padawan away. They had learned and grown since that time, but some old insecurities never seemed to die.

“I will return in a few days,” Tahl promised. “I only want to ensure that-”

“That Master Qui-Gon is alright?” Bant guessed.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t. But I know this was his first real mission since...a long time, and I knew you were nervous," Bant admitted.

Tahl sighed. “I am sure he is fine. You should not be so eager to get away from your studies, padawan mine.” She smiled, shaking Bant’s shoulder a little. “Your Trials will be here before you know it.”

Suddenly, Tahl’s communicator beeped to signal an incoming transmission. The gentle teasing on Tahl’s face evaporated.

Bant paused, hoping Tahl might allow her to stay. It was likely the Council, and Bant was eager to hear what they to say about Tahl’s trip. But the transmission wasn’t coming from within the Temple, or even Coruscant.

“Bant, could we please continue this discussion later?” Tahl asked quietly. Bant tried not to visibly pout as she retreated.

* * *

 

The next time Obi-Wan surfaced from his drugged daze, Qui-Gon was prepared.

“Obi-Wan, you are in the hospital. The police brought you here after we rescued you. You are safe.”

“No…” he slurred. They had his bed cranked up almost into a sitting position to help keep his airway clear, but his breaths still rattled in his chest as he turned his head away. “You’re not him,”

“You’re not dreaming anymore. I am here, and you will be alright.” Qui-Gon laid his palm across Obi-Wan’s forehead. Obi-Wan sighed at the touch and drifted back to sleep.

When he woke again he seemed to have a clearer head. He cast his eyes across the room, slowly taking it in.

“I am right here, and you are safe, Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan’s gaze turned sharply to him. His mouth became a thin line. Qui-Gon had already signaled for the doctor.

“Water?” Qui-Gon offered, holding out a carton with a straw that a nurse had left. Obi-Wan was still cuffed to the side rails of the bed, so Qui-Gon held the carton while Obi-Wan took an enthusiastic sip. Intravenous rehydration evidently did not compare to the real thing.

The door slid open halfway. Tiaurn stepped into the room and shut it silently behind her.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” she said as she rolled a stool to the side of the bed. “My name is Fahra Tiaurn. I’m the doctor who’s been looking after you. How are you feeling?”

Obi-Wan simply continued to stare.

“Are you comfortable? Any pain?”

Still nothing. Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, then back at the doctor. He met her eyes, then immediately cast his gaze to the ground.

“If you can hear and understand me, could you nod?”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“Good,” Tiaurn offered him a smile. “Do you know where you are?”

Obi-Wan paused, then shook his head.

“This is the Milfront County Hospital, on the planet Jacquen. You’ve been asleep for about two days. Do you remember who this is?” She gestured to Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan nodded without hesitation. Qui-Gon breathed an inward sigh of relief.

“Is your throat or mouth injured, Obi-Wan? Does it hurt to talk?”

Another shake no.

Tiaurn typed some notes into her datapad, then removed Obi-Wan’s restraints and launched into a careful explanation of his injuries and the treatments that had already been administered. Obi-Wan did little more than nod along.

He winced as she examined the healing scar tissue and the macerated sores on his back and listened to his lungs with a stethoscope, but he made no attempt to stop her. More than once Qui-Gon tried to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder only for Obi-Wan to shrug it off irritably.

 _[It is alright, dear one,]_ Qui-Gon tried to reach out into the empty space where he had once felt their Master-Padawan bond. Obi-Wan did not seem to notice.

Tiaurn asked him to move each of his fingers, then his toes, and follow her penlight with his eyes, and although he cooperated, nothing they did could coax him to speak.

“Qui-Gon, could I see you outside for a moment?”

Qui-Gon glanced questioningly at Obi-Wan, wondering if it was wise to leave him alone in the room. Obi-Wan nodded at him, as if giving permission.

Tiaurn shut the door and explained quietly, “He’s making good progress, all things considered, but we need to find out what’s keeping him from communicating. Our initial scans didn’t pick up on any damage to his vocal cords. Perhaps we need to do a more in-depth brain scan to rule out a neurological cause.”

“He spoke to me,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “When he first awoke he thought I was just a hallucination, and he spoke freely. Then again earlier, when he was half-sedated he mumbled to himself.”

“I see. Well, if he simply cannot speak in front of me, that’s even better news. He never had any speech problems or social anxiety as a child, did he?” Qui-Gon answered in the negative. “Then there’s an extremely good chance that this will be short-term.”

 “I’m glad,” said Qui-Gon distractedly. “If it is a sort of social anxiety, do you think it would prevent him from communicating through the Force?”

“That’s not my area of expertise, I’m afraid, but I suppose it might.”

Qui-Gon ran a contemplative hand through his beard. That made sense, but it didn’t explain everything—namely why Qui-Gon was unable to sense his presence even as they sat in the same room.

“By any chance, have you taken his midichlorian count?”

“It’s a part of our standard blood panel,” Tiaurn said. “I glanced at it, but I don’t recall.” She pulled up Obi-Wan’s file on her datapad and clicked through until she found the lab results from the previous night. “There. A bit below average, but well within the normal range for humans.”

Qui-Gon gaped at the number. “No…no, that can’t be right. He’s quite Force-sensitive.”

Tiaurn tapped the datapad a few more times and handed it back. “It wasn’t a mistake. That’s from the follow-up we ran this morning. The result is almost identical.”

Qui-Gon’s confusion and fear radiated off of him in waves.

“I’ve heard that some medications can skew the tests by temporarily lowering the concentration of midichlorians in the blood,” Tiaurn offered. “Particularly sedatives and anesthesia have this effect. We’ll just keep an eye on it as he recovers.”

Qui-Gon wanted to believe her and blame the drugs Obi-Wan had been given since arriving at the hospital, but like his first hypothesis, it failed to explain all of the facts. The loss of their Force-bond, the years of silence.

“I need to get him back to Coruscant,” Qui-Gon declared. “The Jedi Healers need to investigate this. Immediately.”

“That's too risky, Qui-Gon. He's not out of the woods yet, and if something went wrong in hyperspace you could be hours away from the nearest medcenter.”

Beneath his dignified exterior, Qui-Gon was struck with the sudden urge to kick something. He did not—he was a Jedi, Force damn it, and he could not behave so—but the desire was there. He knew Tiaurn was right as well.

A series of loud, rattling coughs were heard from behind the closed door.

“I think we best focus on the here and now," Tiaurn said gently, not knowing how her words struck Qui-Gon with the memory of old Jedi adages. They went back inside.

Obi-Wan was hunched forward, gripping the side rail of the bed as he coughed. He startled violently when he heard the door open, but relaxed when he saw the two familiar faces.

One of Obi-Wan’s monitors was chirping that his blood oxygen was low, but it quieted when Tiaurn turned up the concentration of his oxygen and he caught his breath.

“There’s a pulmonologist who’ll be stopping in in about an hour,” Tiaurn said, addressing both of them. “And someone from psych this afternoon. If there’s any problem, ask someone to comm me, okay?”

After the doctor left, Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan carefully, wondering whether he would be able to find his voice now that there were no strangers in the room. Obi-Wan sat motionless, as if numb. Qui-Gon carefully caught his eye and asked, “Do you need anything, lad?”

Obi-Wan quickly shook his head. Qui-Gon nearly sighed in frustration, but restrained himself. A tiny shiver ran up Obi-Wan's back, and suddenly Qui-Gon noticed gooseflesh on his arms. 

It was unnerving to think that Obi-Wan was too afraid to ask for something as simple as a blanket. Qui-Gon rose and searched through some of the cupboards until he found one, and spread it over Obi-Wan’s lap, gently tucking it around him. Even that tiny gesture of compassion brought grateful tears to Obi-Wan’s eyes.

Slowly and gingerly, Obi-Wan reached out and took Qui-Gon's hand with a weak grasp. That was the first time he had initiated any physical contact. Qui-Gon looked away, blinking hard.

The pulmonologist did some scans and switched Obi-Wan’s oxygen for a medicated breathing treatment. Qui-Gon was not sure what the psychologist intended to accomplish, given that Obi-Wan would not speak, but he didn’t get to find out because they made him wait outside in the hall. Despite Tiaurn’s earlier assertion that the number of staff on Obi-Wan’s case was being limited due to the sensitive nature of the police investigation, there seemed to be quite a few doctors and specialists involved. Obi-Wan was frightened of every new person who walked through the door, and watching them left a queasy feeling building in the bottom of Qui-Gon’s stomach.

Qui-Gon had to admit to himself that it wasn’t anything about the doctors that was bothering him, rather, it was facing the fact that Obi-Wan was in a state that required this level of care. It seemed he had come back from the dead in more ways than one.

The breathing treatment eased Obi-Wan’s coughing and made him sleepy. The morning had been overstimulating. He fought his drowsiness with a heartbreaking vigor, shaking his head to clear it and always keeping a vigilant eye on the door, but eventually sleep overcame him.

Feeling numb and shaky, Qui-Gon took the communicator from his pocket and switched it on for the first time since the previous night. He had three new messages from Tahl, but rather than watching them, he just typed in her frequency.

Qui-Gon set the tiny projector down on Obi-Wan’s bedside table and sat down in the chair. He waited several long moments for Tahl to pick up.

“Qui-Gon,” she said by way of greeting. Qui-Gon recognized the mixture of worry and annoyance in her tone.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Things have become…complicated,” he said.

“How complicated? Are you alright?”

“…yes,” he said quietly. “Tahl, Obi-Wan is here. I have seen him, spoken to him even. And even if you don’t trust my word, the DNA test confirmed it.”

“How is that possible?

Qui-Gon ignored the question. “I need your help.” He told Tahl everything, about Obi-Wan’s fears and his troubling disconnection from the Force.

“I couldn’t make this up, Tahl, I swear I couldn’t make half of this up.”

“I know, Qui-Gon. I am sorry,” said Tahl in earnest. “When we last spoke you were so frantic, and it reminded me—”

“I know. As long as you believe me now, it’s alright.”

“Are you coming home?” she asked.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “He won't be strong enough to travel for some time. Tahl, I need you to try to find any records of a similar case. We need to find out if this could be caused by some type of sickness or extreme Force suppression, and how to reverse it.”

Tahl rubbed her forehead with a slight frown.

“What is it?” Qui-Gon asked.

“It’s just…you found Obi-Wan. How is this happening?” she marveled.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

“You _found_ Obi-Wan,” Tahl was silent for a long moment. “I sense the Force’s hand in this. I’ll see if I can uncover anything helpful without drawing attention.” Tahl paused, then added, “Would you…tell him I’m thinking about him?”

“Of course,” said Qui-Gon, glancing towards the sleeping boy in the bed.

“Take care of Obi-Wan. And keep in touch, Qui-Gon.”

“I will,” he promised.

“I’ll check in if I find anything. Pick up the damn comm, please.”

“I _will_.”

Tahl flashed him a smile before the projection cut out. Qui-Gon heaved a sigh of relief as he put the device away.

The short conversation had made all the emotions that Qui-Gon had been distantly observing at the periphery of his consciousness suddenly very real. He didn't know whether it was too good to be true, or too horrifying. Obi-Wan was alive, but what had been done to him? Would he live the rest of his life without his sense of the Force?

He risked stroking Obi-Wan’s hair, making the boy stir in his sleep. “We really thought we’d lost you, dear one,” he whispered. He told himself he must be grateful for that, and entrust the rest to the Force.


	4. Uncharted Territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to announce that Leslie (Anakinstopyourpanakin) is taking a hiatus from this project for health reasons, so you are all stuck with me for the time being! Thank you again for your patience.

“….Wan…”

“…kay, just keep br…”

“Obi…”

Obi-Wan’s blood was ice cold in his veins, and the frantic thump of his pulse was growing louder and faster, deafening all other sounds. As he gasped for air, limbs paralyzed, two faces swam in and out of focus. One was Master Qui-Gon, which meant either he was near death, or—as he was beginning to suspect—the real flesh-and-blood Qui-Gon was somehow miraculously beside him. The other was a younger, darker face that he did not recognize.

Why was his heart racing? Obi-Wan remembered Qui-Gon’s voice thundering _“Force’s sake, get it out of his sight!”_

The stranger had jumped at Qui-Gon’s outburst and hurriedly turned towards the counter to set down the—the syringe. That was it. A horrible, aching itch was building up on the right side of his neck, and scratching it made it worse. He felt warm blood on his fingers and his stomach churned.

“Obi-Wan, you’re having a panic attack,” the stranger said with a practiced confidence, as if the words came naturally. “You’re going to be okay. Try to breathe with me.”

…

Qui-Gon hadn’t known what to make of it. The last time Obi-Wan had woken up, he finally seemed to remember where he was. He clearly wasn’t quite at ease having his bandages changed and drops put in his infected eyes, but it had been under control. He’d been told he needed an injection and he hadn’t seemed worried about it. But either Obi-Wan hadn’t understood or he’d simply failed to anticipate his own reaction, because as soon as he saw the needle all hell had broken loose.

The nurse was inhaling and exhaling, slow and deliberately as he counted aloud and urged Obi-Wan to match his pace. Qui-Gon was trying to remember whether this was the same fidgety nurse he had yelled at the day before. He decided it was. It took several minutes of his coaching for Obi-Wan to control his short, desperate gasps.

“That’s it, doing great,” Barlen encouraged.

Obi-Wan’s hands moved from his neck to his abdomen and Qui-Gon recognized the expression on his face just in time to grab him a basin. Obi-Wan threw up the contents of his mostly empty stomach, then collapsed back into the pillows, exhausted from the ordeal.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Obi-Wan,” said Barlen. “You’re bleeding. Is it okay for me to put some bacta on your neck?”

Obi-Wan nodded, staring at his fingernails as if just noticing the blood crusted under them.

Qui-Gon watched carefully as the nurse applied a sweet-smelling gel to the reopened scabs. Most of them appeared to be self-inflicted, likely from the same sort of panic reaction Obi-Wan had presently had, but Barlen lingered thoughtfully over one of the scratches.

“Obi-Wan, are these injection scars?”

Obi-Wan offered no answer, not even a shake or a nod.

“The people who had him—they drugged him?” Qui-Gon asked sharply.

“Don’t ask me,” said Barlen pointedly. But still Obi-Wan remained sullenly silent. There were tears clinging to his lashes as he lied down and curled up on his side.

“It’s alright,” Barlen assured him. “No one is going to hurt you, or do anything to you without your consent. What if I got you the same medication in a pill? Do you think you would be willing to swallow it?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, which Barlen took for a yes. He glanced at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon got the sense that the nurse was still a bit afraid of him. “I’ll have to get Tiaurn to sign off on that, but I’ll be back soon.”

Watching Barlen leave, Qui-Gon wondered with a sickening twist of his stomach how many more unpleasant surprises they would have to endure.

* * *

 

It was a long night for everyone involved.

Obi-Wan’s supper consisted of a large helping of pills and supplements with a small amount of broth and plain rice. Despite the simplicity of the meal it seemed to make his stomach hurt, but even as clutched at his abdomen whimpering, Qui-Gon’s attempts to soothe him only resulted in Obi-Wan rolling over to face the opposite wall.

Qui-Gon exhaled sharply in irritation. Couldn’t Obi-Wan see that he was trying to help? Why did he seem to want to suffer alone?

Long minutes passed, and Obi-Wan did not emerge from the pillow he was burying his face into. Qui-Gon dimmed the light in case he was trying to fall asleep. But in the darkness, it was too easy for Qui-Gon’s own thoughts to sneak up on him. Obi-Wan had been sick and alone, lost to the Force, and had possibly been injected with something so vile that his body reacted to the mere memory. The mental image pushed Qui-Gon further towards the dark, quiet place in his mind where he didn’t have to think about anything. He told himself he was only remembering that place, not spiraling back into its overwhelming numbness. Not yet, anyway.

The silence lasted so long that Qui-Gon thought Obi-Wan must be asleep. He scrubbed a hand across his weary face. Rest was what they both so desperately needed. Perhaps once he was sure Obi-Wan was not about to wake up in renewed panic, he could slip away and lie down for a few hours himself.

A loud, wet sniffle was heard from the pillow.

Obi-Wan was not asleep after all.

“Obi-Wan,”

Obi-Wan rolled over to look at him. There were tears on his cheeks and shining in his swollen eyes. The sight set off alarms in Qui-Gon’s brain, screaming at him to retreat, to find a silent lonely place to pretend this wasn’t happening. He pushed the impulse away.

“Are you in pain?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan simply rolled back over to face the wall, stifling another sob into the pillow.

“Obi-Wan, is there something I can do to help?”

When no solution seemed forthcoming, Qui-Gon rose and procured another blanket, just to have something to offer. He was rewarded with what he thought might be a grateful look as Obi-Wan added it to the pile he had been gathering around himself and continued to cry quietly.

The nurses and droids that came to check on him all asked the same questions, but Obi-Wan provided no insight into the source of his upset. The tears came and went in spells all night, peppered with fits of coughing. Obi-Wan got little sleep, and Qui-Gon even less. It was a relief to see the dawn light reach the windows and the morning staff appear.

* * *

 

Waiting on Tahl's desk the next morning was a hefty stack of data requests. It seemed her plate would be full for the next few days.

She perused the pile, trying to sort out which ones were most urgent. One request had been filed by Mace Windu, asking for supplementary materials for a mission briefing. Tahl tapped through to check Knight Allie’s scheduled departure – it was that very afternoon.

 Tahl allowed herself a private sigh. _I’ll kill him. The Council knows better than this_.

It was obviously discourteous to drop a request on the Archivists' laps on such short notice, but on a different day Tahl might not have minded. Only today she was anxious to begin researching Force suppression in the Healing infobank for anything that might be of use to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

Mace at least had the decency to apologize at the bottom of the form, mentioning that it concerned a rapidly changing situation, and they needed to send assistance earlier than anticipated. So although Tahl's heart was occupied elsewhere, she settled into a stack of files about a Mid Rim world called Fadreon. 

After copying a few articles about the Fadreon's cultural groups, customs and languages into a folder for Allie, Tahl dug deeper into the mission file to see what type of information would be most relevant.

The mission concerned a ring of illegal chemical distributors that had been operating in Fadreon and its surrounding systems for several rotations. Tahl plugged in her headphones and listened to the official entry in the Temple Archives about the group. It turned out to be two sentences long. All it told her was that the local government of Fadreon had officially rescinded attempts to stop the group’s activities after years of costly and unproductive police work.

Next, she searched the galactic news databank for any mention of the group, and was bombarded with a slew of news reports from the past week. Suddenly she understood the Council’s hurry.

The group had been linked to a catastrophic event—some news-holos called it an industrial accident, others a terrorist attack. In fact, the descriptions given by differing sources did little to help Tahl understand what had happened, or even what the gang’s line of business was exactly. Some reports classified them as smugglers, hired by companies to rebrand and sell pharmaceuticals to drive out competition, others as a black market supplier of various tranquilizers and poisons for bounty hunters.

One questionable magazine had even run an article claiming that the tranquilizers were produced in an illegal medical research facility, which the gang had kept quiet through a series of arsons and murders culminating in the disaster that week. It sounded like the plot of some bad horror holo. Tahl left that one out, but copied a healthy balance of the other reports into the folder for Allie, representing as many viewpoints as possible.

There was something niggling in the back of Tahl’s mind. Something about this mission was far more familiar than it had any right to be.

The request for Jedi aid was being handled through the Intersystem Investigation Unit. The eerie feeling escalated suddenly. Something didn't add up. Perhaps she was just getting impatient. Tahl copied the necessary forms to obtain an I.I.U. identification card as well. Usually a Jedi wouldn't carry such a thing, but if Allie thought she might need to hide her status as a Jedi she could apply for one.

As she was downloading the last document into the file, Tahl heard familiar footsteps approach. “Padawan?”

“It’s lunchtime, Master,” said Bant.

Tahl cursed. She had been supposed to meet Bant in the commissary, and she’d lost track of time. “I’m sorry, Bant.”

“It’s alright. Can we sneak into your office before Master Nu catches me with these sandwiches?”

Tahl laughed. Even she didn’t want to face the Master Archvist’s ire if food was brought anywhere in a fifty-metre radius of the precious databanks. Once they were safely hidden, Bant unpacked lunch for them both on Tahl’s desk.

They ate quietly, discussing the advanced ‘saber form that Bant had spent the morning perfecting and avoiding the topic of Qui-Gon.

“Busy morning?” Bant asked, peeking at the datapad on Tahl’s desk.

“Mission materials for Knight Allie. I don’t know if the Council’s even told her she’s shipping out tonight.”

Bant rolled her eyes. “Poor woman. Is it at least something exciting?”

“I should think so. Chemical explosion in some kind of drug distribution warehouse. She’s not going to the explosion site though, that’s on…” she tapped the datapad to wake it up and double check. “ _Oh_ ,”

“Where is it?” asked Bant, pulling the datapad towards herself. “Jacquen…that’s where…Master Qui-Gon is?”

Tahl almost told her. Almost. Instead she rose, kissed Bant’s forehead, snatched the datapad off the desk and fled the room.

* * *

 

Barlen seemed to surmise how their night had gone by Obi-Wan’s puffy eyes and Qui-Gon’s weary face.

When he was finished with Obi-Wan’s meds, he pulled a wide object from the pocket of his scrubs, beaming. “Found something for you,” he said. “Obi-Wan, meet L-10.”

L-10 was a rectangular droid about twice as wide as Obi-Wan’s palm with a screen on the front and a little keyboard on the back. Barlen instructed him to type his name into it, then press the yellow button on the side.

<Obi-Wan Kenobi!> the little droid recited cheerfully as the words lit up on its front display.

Obi-Wan shook his head violently and pushed the droid off his lap. Qui-Gon instinctively reached out to catch it and hand it back, but Obi-Wan wouldn’t touch it. Apparently the fact that it wasn’t his own vocal chords producing the sound was not sufficient to bypass his anxiety.

“Sorry. Here,” Barlen held out his hand for the droid and Qui-Gon passed it over. “L-10, mute your speakers.”

The screen flashed before going blank again.

“It won’t talk now,” he said, offering it back to Obi-Wan. “You can practice communicating with Qui-Gon, just typing and letting him read. What do you think, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan accepted the droid more gingerly this time.

<OK.> He typed.

Barlen’s smile doubled.

“Could you tell me your birthday?” the nurse asked, and Obi-Wan managed to it type out for him. He answered a few other simple questions, and Qui-Gon’s relief was palpable. Finally, he thought, they might get some answers.

An aide brought Obi-Wan breakfast—if a glass of some viscous nutrient-replacement solution even deserved to be called breakfast. The doctor hadn’t felt he was up to a proper shower yet, but they helped him change into a clean tunic and wash his face, and brought him a basin so he could brush his teeth and at least feel a little cleaner.

By the time all that had been accomplished, Qui-Gon was beginning to acutely feel the effects of his sleepless night, but there was no time to rest. Obi-Wan’s schedule was filled with even more doctor’s appointments than the previous day. Physical therapy in particular had been a trial, as it involved the technician helping Obi-Wan stretch and do simple exercises from his bed, and Obi-Wan hated being touched. The technician promised they could have him starting to walk again in a week or two, but for now he was just supposed to keep stretching and sit up in a chair for a few hours a day to build his core strength.

They were so busy that it was late afternoon before Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan found an opportunity to try out the new droid. Qui-Gon asked his most pressing question first.

“Can you tell me what was wrong last night, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s frown deepened.

“Did you need something? Were you too cold, or in pain?” Qui-Gon prompted. He hoped it was not something so simple that he could have fixed.

Obi-Wan shook his head, to Qui-Gon’s slight relief. He picked up L-10, and spent some time deliberating over his words.

<It’s different here. Soft. Never completely dark. Strange noises.>

Qui-Gon stared at him. After a long pause, he said, “Well, I should hope it’s different. We’re trying to help you. You’re safe now.”

<I don’t know.>

“You don’t know if you’re safe?” Qui-Gon tried not to sound upset. “Obi-Wan—”

<At least before I knew what to expect.>

A spark of annoyance flickered in Qui-Gon. Was Obi-Wan really telling him he would rather be back in that cell, sick and wounded and deprived of food and medicine?

Qui-Gon brought himself back under control, grateful for once that Obi-Wan could not sense him in the Force. “This is only temporary. As soon as you are well enough, I will bring you to the Jedi Temple,” he promised.

Qui-Gon rubbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. Obi-Wan tensed, and annoyance flashed in Qui-Gon again. He just wanted to _help_.

“You need to tell us what you need, Obi-Wan. If you know something is going to be difficult for you, you can always say so and we can take things slower or find another way. Don’t wait until the kid is pointing a needle at you and it’s too late to calm yourself down.”

Obi-Wan’s hand drifted up towards the wounds on his neck and then back down to his lap.

There was a long pause before Obi-Wan typed, <I didn’t think it would scare me here.>

Qui-Gon nodded. “Why?” he pressed gently. He didn’t want to provoke another episode, but he wanted to know. “Do you know what it was that they gave you?”

Obi-Wan set the droid off to the side and drew his knees up to his chest. It seemed Qui-Gon had crossed some line. He wasn’t ready to share what he had been through, in fact, perhaps he wasn’t even ready to confront it to himself.

“Alright,” Qui-Gon backtracked. He changed the subject. “Would you like to tell me if there’s anything from home that you would like me to bring you?”

Obi-Wan refused to even glance towards the droid. He was done communicating. Qui-Gon sighed.

The afternoon wore on, doing nothing to improve either of their moods. The only thing that broke the silence was Obi-Wan’s occasional bouts of coughing. Qui-Gon’s eyes were starting to burn with the length of time he’d been awake.

When Tiaurn came by, she asked Qui-Gon to step into the hall while she examined Obi-Wan’s wounds. He accepted this, but first Obi-Wan had needed a hand to guide him to sit up.

It happened unthinkingly. Qui-Gon reached for the extra pillow stowed behind the headboard of Obi-Wan’s bed with a careless fling of his hand, and Obi-Wan cringed dramatically, eyes wide and drilling into Qui-Gon with a deep-rooted fear.

It took Qui-Gon a moment to process that reaction. “…Force, Obi-Wan, I’m not going to _hit you_.”

He said it like an accusation, with equal parts incredulity and outrage. Obi-Wan looked close to tears, but he did not relax his posture.

“How could you…Obi-Wan, I’ve never…” Qui-Gon struggled for words.

“Qui-Gon,” said Tiaurn. Her voice was gentle for Obi-Wan’s benefit but carried a soft threat beneath.

Qui-Gon shook his head, so deeply wounded that Obi-Wan would believe him capable of such a thing.

“I will never hurt you. Promise me that you know that.” Qui-Gon was aware of his voice growing louder.

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably, leaning away from Qui-Gon as Qui-Gon leaned closer. His reluctance only made Qui-Gon more frustrated.

“Obi-Wan—”

“Relax. You are taking this too personally,” said Tiaurn, coming to the rescue. She nodded towards the door, indicating that Qui-Gon should leave them in privacy.

Qui-Gon waited until the doctor emerged, then tried to slip back into Obi-Wan’s room. He found her standing squarely in his way.

“Do _not_ push him like that. His behavior is not a personal attack on you.” Tiaurn snapped. “He’s in an unfamiliar place, he’s terrified, and you are not the magical exception to his fears.”

“The trust between a Master and Padawan is absolute. If he is not at ease with me, then—”

“—Then you need to give him more time,” Tiaurn finished for him. “I know it’s hard for you to see him like this, but that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on him.”

That drew Qui-Gon up, indignant. Before he could defend himself, Tiaurn cut him off.

“I know it’s hard. You know, we have counselors here that we really encourage caregivers to talk to when their kid is going through something like this.”

“That won’t be necessary,” came Qui-Gon’s gruff reply.

“Suit yourself. Either way I need you to give him some space. Go take some time for yourself.”

“My place is with him,” said Qui-Gon.

“You both need a break from each other.”

Qui-Gon looked deflated. His fatigue was weighing heavily on him. He just wanted to help. He wanted to gather Obi-Wan into his arms and make everything better, or barring that, he just wanted to feel like his presence was even a little bit comforting to the child.

Tiaurn seemed to read his thoughts. “It’s good that you are here, Qui-Gon. We get patients sometimes—not usually at his age, but it’s happened—who don’t have a soul in the galaxy to visit them. But you’re here, and you care. You’d be shocked what a difference it makes, emotionally and even physically.”

Qui-Gon sighed again. He shuddered as he heard the sound of Obi-Wan coughing from within. The thought of passing another restless night like the previous made his heart sick.

“You need to think about what’s best for him. Tell him you’ll be back in the morning, and if he needs you for something, he can ask us to call you.”

Whether or not Obi-Wan would be able to ask for help was a separate question, but guilt was already rising in Qui-Gon for the sharp tone he had taken, and he realized he couldn’t honestly promise himself he wouldn't snap again.

“He’ll be okay,” Tiaurn promised.

“I know.”

* * *

 

Tahl swept into the Council chambers with the datapad in hand, and spoke directly at Mace Windu. “This is Qui-Gon’s mission,” she accused.

“I’m sorry, what are we discussing?” said Master Shaak Ti pointedly.

“Stess Allie is being deployed to Fadreon to partner with the Intersystem Investigation Unit on what appears to be the same case as Qui-Gon Jinn. Has something happened?”

Mace sighed. “Perhaps _you_ could enlighten _us_ , Knight Tahl?”

Tahl stood up straighter. “I’m sorry?”

“Informed, we have been,” said Yoda shrewdly, “That no longer affiliated with the Intersystem Investigation Unit, Qui-Gon is. Reported this to us, he has not. His whereabouts, we know not.”

“Tahl, you told me yesterday that you no longer believed Qui-Gon was…how did you put it? Focused on his mission. Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“I do not know Qui-Gon’s exact whereabouts any more than you do,” said Tahl, not exactly lying. “But Allie is not being sent to check on him, she is investigating the same criminals on a different planet. Do either of them know that the other is on this case?”

Shaak Ti had pulled up the mission files for Allie’s assignment on her datapad, and referenced them. “The Council felt that the situation on Jacquen was a symptom of a larger problem, which would be best addressed with the help of authorities on Fadreon, who have been dealing with this particular smuggling ring for decades. Do you have a problem with this reasoning, Knight Tahl?”

“No,” Tahl grit her teeth, cursing Qui-Gon to the ends of the galaxy. If he could have just managed to remain on civil terms with the I.I.U. and send an update to the Council now and then, neither of them would be under suspicion. She was tempted to try to explain the truth, but not one of them would believe her. If Allie uncovered evidence that led her to the truth, she could get Qui-Gon summoned home. That couldn’t happen.

“Send me instead. Qui-Gon and I have worked in tandem in the past. We are better equipped to tackle this than two strangers.”

“You,” Mace reminded her, “Are on Temple rotation while your padawan prepares for the Trials. Surely that is more important?”

Tahl bristled at the implication. “Of course it is important. Bant is currently finishing her advanced ‘saber work under the guidance of Master Fisto. There is not much I can contribute to that endeavor.”

“But what you’re suggesting then is taking Bant away from Master Fisto for an indeterminate time—”

“Send me alone,” said Tahl simply, voice echoing through the Council chambers.


	5. A Moment's Peace

“We have received permission to make planetfall, sir. Local time is the tenth hour of the morning."

“Thank you, TooJay", said Tahl, reaching for the controls. She felt the slight resistance as the ship pulled out of its orbit around Fadreon and began to descend. It had been a long journey, but she was glad she still had most of the day ahead of her to begin the investigation.

An ambassador was waiting for her on the platform, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Tahl stepped down to greet him.

2J-TJ, the guide droid, appeared at the top of the ramp behind her. "He is offering his right hand to shake, sir, as is custom on many human worlds. It is approximately twenty-five centimeters in front of you—"

Tahl was already halfway through the handshake, having sensed the man's gesture without the droid’s help.

"TooJay, stay on the ship and charge," Tahl ordered.

"I must object, sir, on an unfamiliar world my optical capabilities will—understood, yes, I think my internal battery is running rather low!" At Tahl's murderous glare the droid retreated hastily back up the ramp.

A second official had joined them in the hangar bay while Tahl tried to recover as much professional poise as she could after TooJay's interruptions.

“I’m Detective Rhella Draro, I work for the regional law enforcement.” The newcomer had a slightly rasping voice. She also shook Tahl’s hand before she asked, "Inspector Crag, shall we show our two guests to the precinct?”

"My droid won't be accompanying me," Tahl interrupted quickly.

"That is your prerogative," the woman said, her tone shifting uncertainly. "I am to escort you and your copilot. The droid can be accommodated as well if you wish."

"You assume I have a copilot," Tahl said icily. It was bad enough to endure the overzealous droid, whose function was to assist her. She did not need her supposed mission associates questioning her competency.

The woman sensed that she had given offense, but didn't seem to grasp why. "I only meant, your droid requested permission for two sentients to make planetfall in this dock, and-"

The irritation on Tahl's face turned to genuine confusion. She waved it away. "That must have been an error. Let’s proceed.”

By the time they got to the precinct, it seemed the newly formed team had started without them. In all, they totaled three Republic ambassadors from Intersystem Investigations, a forensics specialist from one planet over, and three members of Fadreon’s own police force, including Draro. Tahl and the officer who had picked her up from the hangar made two more Republic representatives.

They barely got through introductions before it devolved into arguing.

“I would like to point out again,” Detective Draro blustered, bracing over the table with both hands. “That this situation hangs in a delicate balance. The truce we have with these dealers required heavy sacrifices on both sides.”

“Compromise is no longer an option. Nine civilians are dead, Detective,” the forensics specialist interrupted. Tahl heard a barely-concealed thump on the ground, as though the detective had stomped her foot in frustration.

“I have reports that some of the victims were abducted from their homeworlds months ago,” one of the Republic men jumped in. “We’re no longer speaking of petty spice traders. This is beginning to sound less like compromise, and more like tacit acceptance of sentient trafficking within our Republic’s borders.”

“The Order’s findings confirm the link to those kidnappings. It will not go uninvestigated,” Tahl offered. She sensed that the locals were feeling outnumbered, and concerned that if this mission led to trouble, it was their own world and their own civilians who would suffer. “I’m sure the Detective only meant to remind us that we must consider what we are up against before deciding on a plan. As you say, these are not just petty spice traders.”

That seemed to smooth everybody’s feathers satisfactorily. Tahl was already getting a headache. She would never understand Qui-Gon’s choice to specialize in diplomacy; it was exhausting.

The first day was spent bringing everyone up to speed on the details of the case. Apparently one of the Republic ambassadors had just arrived from Jacquen and was able to elaborate on Tahl’s report of Qui-Gon’s findings. By the time everyone had been given a chance to present what they knew, the local officers of Fadreon announced that strategy talks would have to continue tomorrow.

The forensics officer deliberately bumped into Tahl’s chair as he filed out of the conference room. Tahl finished up the notes she had been taking on her datapad. When she was finished she stood, and followed them to the exit.

Waiting just outside the door was the Fadreonian detective who had spoken out during the meeting.

“Master Jedi!” she exclaimed.

“Detective Draro,” said Tahl politely.

“I wanted a chance to speak with you...ah…off the record, let’s say.”

Tahl did not like the sound of this. “Yes?” She began walking in the direction of the hangar, and the little woman followed.

“I’ve heard reports…rumors, more like,” she said conspiratorially as they walked. “That there were ten victims recovered on Jacquen, not nine. And that one of them survived the bombing.”

Tahl raised one eyebrow. Truthfully, the Jacquen police had not released any information about the victims yet, and she had assumed Obi-Wan to be one of the nine. “Where are these rumors coming from?”

“Someone on my staff. We work closely with the Jacquen police force, it’s all very proper I assure you. I just can’t help but wonder…why this information is being hidden?”

A very bad feeling indeed twisted in the pit of Tahl’s stomach. “ _If_ this were true,” she began, treading carefully until she had more knowledge of the situation. “It would seem as though they were trying to protect the surviving victim.” Tahl thought of the hoops Qui-Gon had had to jump through to prove that he was Obi-Wan’s legal guardian. “They could be targeted by their former captors to prevent them from revealing information.”

Draro nodded, but Tahl got the distinct impression that she had not really been listening.

They had reached the hangar bay where Tahl’s ship was docked.

“Until tomorrow, Detective,” said Tahl pointedly.

“Ah, yes. Good night,” and with that, the mysterious little woman disappeared.

Tahl strode down the rows and rows of ships until she reached the bay where she had docked. It was technically after hours, but she’d secured permission to drop by and pick up her luggage and TooJay on her way to the hotel.

As Tahl entered the code to lower the ramp and climbed aboard her cruiser, she felt the Force swell up around her. She drew her lightsaber from her pocket, gripping the hilt without igniting it. She reached out into the Force, sensing for any danger there.

She stowed her lightsaber back in her pocket.

“Your shielding has improved, Padawan,” she growled. “But not that much.”

Bant stepped into the loading chamber, arms crossed. “Why did you leave me?” she demanded.

Tahl rolled her eyes. “Stop it. You were not summoned on this mission. You cannot simply decide to run off whenever you feel like it and shirk your responsibilities.”

“I have a responsibility to my _Master._ And I left with Master Kit’s blessing, so don’t lecture.”

Tahl was already thinking up some strong words for Kit Fisto for when they returned to Coruscant. “Kit’s authority doesn’t overrule mine. You were to stay and continue your training.”

“I’m starting to worry about you!”

But that was the wrong thing to say. Tahl harrumphed and elbowed past Bant to collect her suitcase from the cabin.

TooJay’s mechanized voice interrupted, “Sir—“

“You can stuff it,” Tahl snapped in the droid’s direction as something suddenly clicked into place. “You told the port authorities there were two sentients on this ship, but you never said a word to _me_.”

TooJay’s attempts to defend himself were lost when Tahl stumbled into a box which had been left in the middle of the corridor and whirled around to face Bant again in a fury.

“You are on your way to being recognized as an adult member of this Order, and you are still indulging this insecure padawan behavior. Stowing away on a ship because you didn’t get your way? I would expect better from an _initiate_!”

But even as Tahl raised her voice, guilt was creeping in. Had she really been so distracted for the entire journey that she hadn’t sensed Bant’s presence? She had been so carried away by this puzzle, and she should have known that after all these years Bant was still sensitive to feeling pushed away. If Bant only knew what Qui-Gon had discovered…

But there was still a nagging worry in Tahl’s mind, despite the evidence, that somehow this was all a big misunderstanding. Obi-Wan, back from the dead—it didn’t feel real. The loss had been hard on all of them, but Bant had been just thirteen, and Obi-Wan had been her closest friend from the time they were younglings. As long as there was a shadow of a doubt, Tahl could not risk reopening that old wound with false hope.

 _Just a little longer_ , Tahl reasoned. _The investigation will surely take us to Jacquen, and once I’ve seen them, and spoken with Qui-Gon, I’ll tell her._

She convinced herself it was better that way.

“Bant,”

Tahl sensed the padawan’s weight shift in her stance, but she did not move or reply.

Logic told Tahl that Obi-Wan was alive, and Qui-Gon was watching over him. There was proof enough. But the emotion it dragged up in Tahl felt a lot like that old grief. She couldn’t explain it, not yet.

“Bant,” Tahl repeated, but still the padawan was silent.

“Fine,” Tahl huffed. She held a piece of flimsi out to Bant. “The address of where I’m staying. I doubt the hangar regulations permit you to sleep here, so you’ll have to come by.”

Bant stood slowly and walked up to Tahl, stopping squarely in front of her.

“We’re on Temple leave,” said Bant at last, her tone smooth like ice. “Which means,” she took the flimsi containing the address out of Tahl’s hand and headed for the ramp. “That you _asked_ for this. Behind my back. Don’t lie and try to blame the Council.”

Bant left Tahl alone on the cruiser, anger quickly evaporating into queasy frustration.

Tahl knelt down to find the plastic container she had nearly tripped over to move it out of the way.

Her heart sank as she realized what it was. Bant had clearly been halfway through unpacking it when Tahl arrived. On the floor were a set of human-sized padawan tabards and a woolen cloak that wouldn’t fit either of them. Tahl wondered if Bant had realized what they were.

In the bottom of the box lay an assortment of beads and seashells, data cartridges for a graphic novel 'pad, and at the very bottom, a worn and faded blanket - one that Bant would have known well. It had adorned the bunk below hers in the initiate dorm.

 _It will hurt for now, but soon I will show her that I trust her. Just not this moment. It’s the right choice_ , Tahl reminded herself. She put the box away, grabbed her things and left for the lodging the Council had arranged.

Bant was already in the room when Tahl entered. She didn’t acknowledge her master’s arrival.

Through their bond, Tahl could feel the dull ring of old pain stirring in Bant. Tahl threw up her shields in response, afraid that her own feelings would betray her. She unpacked the essentials and sat down on the bed, waiting. She was braced for the inevitable question, for Bant to demand to know why she had packed Qui-Gon’s secret box of Obi-Wan’s things. She was racking her mind for an answer that sounded believable.

Eventually Bant rose, crossed the room and placed something in Tahl’s hands. It was one of the seashells.

When the question finally came, it was not the one that Tahl had expected.

“Are we investigating the smugglers that killed Obi-Wan?” Bant’s grip on the shell tightened when she said his name. She sounded like she might cry. “Is that why you didn’t think I could handle it?”

“Bant, I believe you are strong and capable. But I have to figure this out alone.”

“Why?” Bant scoffed. She still sounded wounded.

The numbness and confusion that Tahl felt reminded her of the months after memorial, and one year later when Qui-Gon had been in the care of the Mind-Healers. Tahl had struggled with how much to reveal to Bant, unsure whether it was healthy to allow her to discuss the loss of her best friend with the person who’d known him best, or to try to shield her from Qui-Gon’s messy grieving process. Tahl had run herself ragged trying to support them both simultaneously, to say nothing of her own grief.

She felt about as ragged now.

Back then, Tahl had been an inexperienced master still learning to cope with her injuries, doing her best to carry a sick friend and a devastated child through the unimaginable. She had been alone. She wasn’t now.

“Bant, there’s something I haven’t been honest with you about. Come sit down.”

* * *

 

Qui-Gon still didn’t know if he had done the right thing by leaving.

It had made him uneasy to leave Obi-Wan without a familiar face, without an advocate if he needed something and couldn’t ask for it. The thought of him waking up disoriented and frightened again…but he’d been just as frightened of Qui-Gon as everybody else. As nauseating as that reality was, Qui-Gon had taken the doctor’s advice and returned to his apartment so they both could have some space to breathe.

Cascades of bitter sleet greeted Qui-Gon on his walk to the hospital. He didn’t even bother shedding his rain-soaked cloak before making a beeline for Obi-Wan’s room.

Obi-Wan actually smiled when he looked up and saw Qui-Gon. The circles around his reddened eyes betrayed that he had been crying again.

“How did you sleep?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan pulled a face. He had barely rested at all since they’d taken him off the soporifics, as if he could not bring himself to let his guard down.

Qui-Gon noticed he had a datapad on his lap.

“What are you reading?”

Obi-Wan clicked back to the title screen of the novel and showed him. He picked up the yellow droid waiting by his bedside.

<Barlen let me borrow them,> he typed. He pointed to two other data cartridges sitting on the table, containing a selection of books in the native language of Jacquen as well as Basic.

Qui-Gon nodded approvingly. His eyes strayed to the data cartridges on the table. There was also an emesis basin sitting next to them, within Obi-Wan’s reach. Qui-Gon wondered if he had been sick to his stomach.

He was about to ask when there was a knock at the door. “Good morning,” said Barlen cheerfully.

Obi-Wan actually smiled at him. Maybe they were getting somewhere.

“Obi-Wan, where’s Lio?”

Obi-Wan set the datapad aside and picked up the little speech droid again.

“Can you type your date of birth for me, bud?”

Obi-Wan answered that and several other questions with Lio’s help while Barlen took his vitals.

“You know the drill, I’m going to touch this to your forehead, alright?” Barlen asked as he held the thermometer to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Great, now your arm?”

Obi-Wan offered his arm for the blood pressure cuff. Qui-Gon noticed he seemed much more relaxed when Barlen explicitly warned him before initiating any contact.

Obi-Wan had made progress, despite everything. His conjunctivitis was mostly cleared up, and a few days of proper nutrients and fluids had lessened the sallow, sunken look in his face. The cuts from knives and whips were tender stripes of white and pink – the oldest wounds were on their way to becoming faded scars while the newly bacta-healed stripes would soon disappear entirely.

“How’s your cough today?” Barlen asked. Qui-Gon didn’t see what Obi-Wan typed in response.

“Chest pain hasn’t gotten worse? No trouble breathing?”

Obi-Wan shook his head no. He looked so tired, Qui-Gon’s heart hurt for him.

When Barlen left, Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a long moment, then dragged them open again. 

"You need to sleep," said Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan shook his head.

"At least let's dim the lights and you can rest your eyes. I'll stay right beside you." Qui-Gon was certain that if Obi-Wan tried that, he would doze off whether he meant to or not.

Obi-Wan fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. He looked away, coughing from deep in his chest. He grabbed the emesis basin from the table and spat a mouthful of mucus into it.

 _That’s new_ , thought Qui-Gon disconcertedly.

"You remember where you are, don't you? You know that you're safe here?"

Obi-Wan twitched an eyebrow at that but offered no reply. Maybe that meant he wasn't sure. 

Or maybe, Qui-Gon thought with a pang of guilt, it meant he was afraid Qui-Gon would get angry again if he told the truth.

Qui-Gon let it go and took a seat beside the bed. He didn't know how to make Obi-Wan understand that the long nightmare was over. But he had to accept that Obi-Wan could not believe his words just like that - perhaps he had found and lost hope too many times before.

They passed the day much in the same manner as the previous – tests and doctor’s visits and gentle exercises prescribed by the physical therapist. The pulmonologist did more scans and frowned at the results.

“We’ve got to put you back on the nebulizer, Obi-Wan,” he announced gruffly. “I also need to order some labs, but Tiaurn is being stubborn about his blood tests.”

“Needles are problematic,” said Qui-Gon, matching the man’s brusque tone.

“He’s not responding to the antibiotic, that’s problematic,” the doctor shot back.

He returned with a tech and the machine from the day before. They fitted a mask over Obi-Wan’s mouth and nose to make it easier for him to inhale the medication.

After about five minutes, Obi-Wan’s breathing was becoming labored. "Easy now," Qui-Gon warned.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth in frustration, chest heaving.

One heavy breath hitched in his throat and turned into a cough. More deep, wet hacking followed, until Obi-Wan was gasping for air. He reached out a weak hand towards the emesis basin on the bedside tray. Qui-Gon hastily passed it over.

He yanked the mask off and spat into the basin, corners of his mouth twisting in disgust. Qui-Gon helped him replace the mask, only for the process to repeat half a dozen times. By the end of the treatment, Obi-Wan was doubled over, weak and trembling and clutching at his chest in agony. His doctor returned to remove the nebulizer and listen to Obi-Wan’s lungs again. He announced that they were better, but that he still wasn’t happy, then left again. The tech was gentler, pushed a painkiller through Obi-Wan’s IV and promised that they would figure out a different antibiotic soon.

After that ordeal, Qui-Gon was determined to get Obi-Wan to sleep. While the painkiller kicked in, he rearranged the bedding that had gotten tangled in Obi-Wan’s thrashing.

“Why don’t you try to take a nap before dinner?” he suggested. Obi-Wan shook his head.

Qui-Gon leaned down to retrieve a blanket that had slipped onto the floor and placed it on the foot of the bed. When he looked back, Obi-Wan was holding Lio out to him.

“What is it, Obi-Wan?”

<Can we go outside?> the droid’s display read.

“Outside?” It took Qui-Gon a moment to realize what Obi-Wan meant. “Oh. It’s cold and rainy today, that might not be the best—” But Qui-Gon bit his tongue. This was the first thing Obi-Wan had asked for, the first time he had been able to communicate something he wanted without being prompted. This, from the child who had shivered in silence a few days ago because he was too afraid to ask for a blanket.

“Of course. Of course we can.”

They were able to procure a hoverchair and tentative approval from the staff—provided they did not stay long.

Obi-Wan transferred himself to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side. Qui-Gon tried not to stare at how impossibly skinny they were, the muscles atrophied from his long illness and restricted movement. As Obi-Wan shifted in preparation to push up from the bed, a protective instinct surged up in Qui-Gon, like something squeezing his chest.

“Please let me help you,” he said, voice low.

Obi-Wan apprehensively accepted Qui-Gon’s support, lifting him under the arms and helping him settle into the chair. Qui-Gon pulled four or five blankets from the pile on the bed and bundled them carefully around him.

Outside, the freezing rain had given way to the faintest of snowfalls, and the sun peeked out from behind wispy clouds. Tiny flecks skittered down at a leisurely pace and melted in the puddles. When the sunshine hit his face, Obi-Wan gasped. Qui-Gon wondered with a pang of sadness how long it had been since he had seen the sky.

They parked the hoverchair next to a bench in the courtyard and sat in silence for the next several minutes. Obi-Wan closed both eyes and inhaled deeply, a gentle smile on his face.

Qui-Gon was watching Obi-Wan’s expression, which was nothing but bliss. It felt as though they were finally taking a step forward. As though maybe things would start getting better from here.

Despite the sun, the air was sharp and cold, and it only took a few minutes to set Obi-Wan coughing again. He didn’t protest when Qui-Gon rubbed his shoulder supportively then rose and began to steer him back into the building.

They returned to Obi-Wan’s hospital room in silence.

“Ready?” Qui-Gon asked before he crouched down to lift Obi-Wan out of the hoverchair. Obi-Wan put his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck to hold on. With a gentle heave, Qui-Gon set him down in his bed. But as Qui-Gon let go, Obi-Wan still hung on.

Qui-Gon was surprised for a moment. Obi-Wan rested his head against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, arms still wrapped around his neck.

Qui-Gon returned the embrace in disbelief, and Obi-Wan squeezed tighter. Qui-Gon reached one hand up to stroke the back of Obi-Wan’s head, still stunned by what a relief and a joy it was to just hold him close. He didn't want to let go.

It was Obi-Wan who ultimately broke it off. He sat back and pulled the little droid onto his lap. For a moment his fingers twitched thoughtfully over the keyboard.

<They treat my wounds when it gets too bad> he finally wrote. <And the worse it gets, the more I dream that you or Tahl are there watching over me. But it’s never real>

Qui-Gon sat down on the edge of Obi-Wan’s bed, trying to formulate a response. What was left to say to convince Obi-Wan he wasn’t a hallucination? But he looked back at Obi-Wan’s face and saw him smiling.

<I’ve never dreamed about the sky before,>

One corner of Qui-Gon’s mouth tugged upwards as he patted Obi-Wan’s hand.

Qui-Gon felt that after that moment, something had shifted. Maybe he flinched a little less as Qui-Gon helped him into his pajamas, or maybe he was a little more cooperative with the nurse who replaced Barlen around dusk. By the time Obi-Wan had taken his evening meds, he was blinking heavily.

“Can I lower you down?” Qui-Gon asked. At Obi-Wan’s nod, he shifted the bed into a horizontal position. “Lights off?”

Qui-Gon was never one to beg the Force for little favors, but he prayed as hard as he could that Obi-Wan was not about to start crying again. Something about the hospital at night seemed to set him off, but Obi-Wan couldn’t afford another sleepless night. Qui-Gon would do whatever it took to put him at ease.

“Would you rather I leave?”

Obi-Wan shook his head no without lifting it from the pillow. His fingers found Qui-Gon’s and wrapped around them before his eyes slid shut.

“You’re safe,” Qui-Gon whispered hoarsely, giving those fingers a squeeze. “Rest, and get well.”

He stirred once or twice to cough, but within the hour, Obi-Wan dropped into a deep sleep. His breathing evened out and his hold on Qui-Gon’s hand slackened. All the pain of the last four days was worth it in that moment. Qui-Gon glanced at the door to ensure no one was coming, then gently pressed a kiss into Obi-Wan’s forehead.


	6. Measures of Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leslie suggested I share the playlist we made for this fic back in November. My personal favorite from this list is "Little Hell" by City and Colour. Listen here! https://open.spotify.com/user/ravenclawhobbit/playlist/4Hvz5ZdzJ2ln8auHIBFSIX

Bant was holding up better than Tahl had anticipated. Tahl could feel her upset and confusion pulsing through the Force, but to any stranger she might have seemed perfectly calm.

“So what do we _know_?” she kept repeating, pouring over Tahl’s mission materials for the umpteenth time.

“Bant, you’re pacing,” said Tahl. Bant came to a halt in the middle of the room. “I have another meeting with the police today. We will get more information.”

There was silence. Bant’s humidifier hummed in the background; without it the air would be too dry for her skin, but whenever they roomed together she turned it down so that Tahl could breathe. The result was always an environment that neither of them was completely comfortable in.

“There’s too many variables. What were they doing to them? Where are the other operations?” Bant was pacing again, probably without conscious awareness of it. “Were all the victims kidnapped—were there any other Jedi? Were they all Force-suppressed, or just Obi-Wan? How do we undo it?”

Tahl sat down on the foot of the bed. “Let’s stay focused. Which of those questions do you think we need answered first?”

Bant chafed at being spoken to like a child. “We need to know their intentions, which will help us guess what they’ve done and what they will do next.”

Tahl nodded in agreement. “I will get notes from the officer who searched the facility on Jacquen, and see what they suspect.”

“What’s going to happen if he can’t get the Force back?”

“Bant,” said Tahl. “There’s no reason to worry about that yet. Here.” Tahl handed her a stack of datapads with the city insignia on them. “Yesterday I went to the city records’ office and requested all the case reports from before the police of Fadreon discontinued their investigation 5 years ago. Most of them are citations for possession of illegal sedatives and tranquilizers that are well known in the Outer Rim. Until all of this, we believed that they transported these substances, but there was no evidence that they were actually involved in _producing_ or _using_ them.”

Bant sifted through the pile with a look of disgust on her face.

“While I’m at the precinct, I want you to pick up the records and gather some research on the various drugs. We’ll eventually need to find out from the mortician on Jacquen whether any of them were used on the other victims.”

“Obviously they were,” said Bant. “What will we learn from that?”

“Qui-Gon said the ten victims he found in the section of the building he searched were Force users, but others weren’t. If there’s a drug that was used on the Force-sensitives and no one else, we need to find out which one.”

Bant swallowed hard. “And Obi-Wan?”

Tahl scratched her chin. “Technically, I don’t think we’re supposed to know about him. Keep that in mind if you come into contact with any of the other investigators. We’ll rely on Qui-Gon for that information. Bant—”

Tahl fell silent. Bant waited expectantly.

“I don’t trust all of the officials on this case. Use your head. Be safe.”

 _Ugh_ , Bant had to judiciously restrain herself from sighing. “I always am, Master.”

“Don’t. We know what these people are capable of.” Tahl suddenly put a hand on Bant’s arm.

Bant took a step backwards, picking up the datapads and stacking them on the desk. “I’ll take care of myself. You stay safe too, Master.”

 

* * *

 

<Did you really sleep in that chair all night?>

Qui-Gon smiled. “It wasn’t so bad. I borrowed one of the blankets you weren’t using.”

Obi-Wan had accumulated a frankly ridiculous stash of blankets, arranged on the bed around him like a nest. After the traumatic first few days, Qui-Gon certainly wasn’t about to ridicule anything that brought him some measure of comfort.

<Sorry, I’m using all of them,> He gathered a handful of them to his chest with a playfully protective glare.

It just felt so normal in that moment. Just a midafternoon conversation with his padawan. Obi-Wan had slept through the night and right up until he’d been woken for another painful breathing treatment, which left him so wiped out that he’d napped most of the afternoon. Now he was awake again. Qui-Gon realized this was the most settled he had been the entire time since the rescue.

Qui-Gon suddenly couldn’t wait to get Obi-Wan back to the Temple, have these conversations in their own quarters over tea.

He was dragged back to the present by the sound of coughing. Obi-Wan had typed, <What are you daydreaming about?>

Qui-Gon just smiled and patted Obi-Wan’s knee over the blankets.

There was only one catch. Everything – his wounds, muscle strength, and even his mental health – had improved drastically, but the pneumonia stubbornly remained. Today he seemed to be breathing with a loud wheeze.

It was fortunate that his reaction to anyone entering the room was no longer abject terror, because Dr. Tiaurn and the pulmonologist had been in and out much more frequently than usual. They put him through a series of lung capacity tests and didn’t seem happy with the results.

“Obi-Wan, listen,” Tiaurn began, a sympathetic note in her voice. “We’re doing our best to accommodate your situation, rearranging medications and tests, but there’s no way around this. I need to see some bloodwork. We’ve been putting it off in spite of protocols, but I need to see what’s going on with you, starting with the bacteria in your lungs. The broad-spectrum antibiotic you’re on now is not doing its job.”

Obi-Wan’s face fell as she spoke. He pulled Lio onto his lap, but didn’t seem to know what to say.

When the silence grew too long, Tiaurn continued, “It won’t be like what you remember. Qui-Gon can be there with you. We can even give you something for the nerves beforehand.”

Finally Obi-Wan gathered himself together and typed, <I can’t.>

“If you want, we can give you a pill about an hour beforehand. It won’t knock you out, it will just make you very calm and relaxed. You will be in control.”

Qui-Gon put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away. Ten minutes ago Obi-Wan had been at ease with friendly contact, and Qui-Gon felt stung that he had been shut out again.

“Let them do what they need to, Padawan. Just get it over with, and you and I can do something nice afterwards, as a treat.”

<I’m not a child,> he typed with a glare.

Qui-Gon begged to differ, but he knew better than to say so.

The doctor stepped closer to him, stooping a little to meet his eyes directly. “I realize how much I’m asking from you. What part makes you uneasy, Obi-Wan? Can you tell me specifically?”

Obi-Wan drew his knees up to his chest and looked away.

“You can do this. I know you can,” said Tiaurn.

<You can’t make me.> Tears were gathering in Obi-Wan’s eyes as he swallowed hard. <I can’t do it and I’m allowed to say no.>

“Yes, that’s your right.” Tiaurn admitted. “But I want you to consider, you are not in good health to be fighting off the infection. Your body is overtaxed already, and if we don’t bring this under control it could spread and become a much more serious problem. I’m not exaggerating when I say you could die from this.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon as if looking for rescue. Qui-Gon wanted desperately to swoop in and assure him that he didn’t have to do anything he wasn’t ready for. One option sacrificed Obi-Wan’s slowly reemerging sense of autonomy and safety, but the alternative endangered his health which was equally unthinkable.

He was fighting very hard not to cry, an itching sensation crawling under his skin again. Tiaurn took a step back. “I’ll give you a bit of time to mull it over, Obi-Wan. If you can think of any way that we could make the procedure more bearable, please ask.”

Obi-Wan frowned.

“I really hope you let us help you,” she said quietly before exiting. Qui-Gon was gearing up to console Obi-Wan when the boy turned Lio to face him.

<Please leave me alone,> the screen read.

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to say something, but in the end he just sighed and patted the side rail of the bed before he turned to go. Given time and patience, Qui-Gon had no doubt that Obi-Wan would be able to face down fear with all the grace of a Jedi Knight. Time, however, was something they were severely lacking.

Qui-Gon strode quickly to catch up with Tiaurn in the hallway.

“We can’t seriously let him do this,” he protested.

“Of course not,” said the doctor. “So you better get to work convincing him, because my hands are tied.”

* * *

 

Tahl excused herself from the argument occurring in the conference room to take a comm in the hallway.

“Master, our room,” Bant was panting. It sounded like she was outside, probably walking and talking at the same time. “I got back from the comm station and it was completely trashed. The door had been forced.”

“What?” Tahl exclaimed. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“The only thing they took were the datapads you gave me, with the police reports.”

“What?” was the only response that came to Tahl’s mind.

“I checked, everything else was there. The receptionist gave me a description of someone who asked which room the Jedi was in.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Those ‘pads were just copies.”

“Were they classified?”

“No!” Tahl shook her head. “Anyone who’s a city resident could walk in and access that information. No one asked me for any explanation or proof beyond that. The thieves must not be locals.”

Bant’s pace slowed and her voice lowered. “I don’t know, they could be. Listen, Master, I have a lead and I’m going to do some sniffing around the records center.”

“Wait, Bant,” said Tahl. “I’ll only be another hour. Meet me at the precinct, and we’ll go together.”

“That could be too late. I’m going now.”

“Padawan.” Without really meaning to, Tahl heard the stuffy ‘Master’ tone that she’d hated at Bant’s age come out.

“This makes sense, Master. You can’t leave your meeting, and I can handle this. At least just pretend to trust me, just this once.”

“I trust you, Bant—” She thought she heard a barely-audible snort in response to that. “Fine. Just keep a low profile, I’ll join you when I can.”

Bant ended the transmission and glanced down the street. She was dressed in full Jedi garb – as a Mon Calamari it was little use trying to blend in anyways. The native population of Fadreon was Falleen with a slightly higher population of humans in the capital city, and aquatic species were something of a rarity. That suited her just fine for now.

She pulled the map out of her pocket and examined it again. She wasn’t far from the records center where Tahl had first procured the files.

An intern about Bant’s age sat at the desk on the ground floor of the building. She stared, but Bant didn’t mind. If she was a little bit in awe of the Jedi, she’d be more likely to cooperate.

“I need to speak with the head of security,” said Bant.

The Falleen girl looked confused. “We don’t have one, Master Jedi?”

Bant drummed on the edge of the counter with two claws. “Who would you call if you found evidence of tampering with your database, or an attempted break-in?”

“Um,” The girl twirled the end of her long, black headtail. “I guess the Head Curators, Mr. Typ or Mrs. Draro, whichever one was here.” She laughed softly. “But I’ve never seen anything like that happen.”

“You might be about to,” said Bant. The girl eyed her carefully, realizing she was serious. 

Bant followed the girl through a veritable maze of shelves lined with datatapes, pads and projectors. The materials were stacked not only on the shelves, but also in precarious piles in the gap between the shelves and the ceiling, on the floor, and on the rungs of the ladders meant for accessing the top shelves. How anyone found anything when it was needed was a mystery – Tahl would be appalled. Master Nu would probably die of a heart event.

The second and third stories were filled with the same chaos, but after the fourth set of stairs they walked out into a cramped little hallway lined with offices. All the lights were off.

“Oh shavit, I forgot,” the Falleen teen cursed. “Mrs. Draro had to attend a meeting for her other job today. She’s only here part-time, you know. We don’t really need a fulltime curator, not much going on here. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” said Bant graciously, following her back down the stairs.

“She should be back in about an hour, if you don’t mind waiting. Or if you need me to pull some records, I could help?” She looked hopeful. She must be bored to tears, cooped up in this place.

“Actually,” said Bant, “I’m interested in some police records from about five years ago. My master requested to download them yesterday, maybe you still have them on hand?” Bant eyed a haphazard pile of data tapes sitting on the desk. They looked a little dusty.

“No, we return everything to its place after data transfers,” the girl said. Bant almost laughed, and the girl gave her an odd look. “What do you need, more specifically?”

Bant was waiting at the counter while the girl searched one of the storage rooms when the door buzzer rang. The presence that entered the foyer was weak in the Force. He stood a polite distance behind her in line. She snuck a polite glance around, registering that he was a human, wearing dark clothes, relatively unremarkable.

“I think I have all of them,” the Falleen girl said as she entered the foyer through the door, clicking it shut behind her. Her arms were laden with data tapes.

“Perfect,” said Bant, but fell silent when a flit of movement caught her eye. She whirled around, but saw nothing.

Returning to the task at hand, Bant pulled out her own ‘pad to begin transferring the data. The door to the storage room creaked.

Bant realized the man who had been standing behind her was gone.

“Didn’t you shut that?” she asked in a whisper.

“It must not have latched,” the intern said, but Bant was already walking away.

“Stay there,” she warned. Don’t leave that desk, okay?”

The girl watched, mouth agape, as Bant disappeared through the doorway, drawing her lightsaber from her belt.

* * *

 

Qui-Gon had stayed away for twenty minutes, wanting to respect Obi-Wan’s request for privacy, but he knew he had a daunting task ahead when he returned. He was racking his brain for what he should say, but the sight that greeted him when he opened the door left no room for thoughts in his head.

“Oh, Obi-Wan,”

The sight of blood smeared all over Obi-Wan’s shirt startled Qui-Gon, but he soon realized it was only coming from the shallow wounds on his neck. He was digging his fingernails into them again. His entire body shook.

Obi-Wan shot him a glare that clearly said, _Leave me alone_. Qui-Gon took his seat quietly. The tentative peace between them that morning had slipped away too easily.

“It’s okay,”

Obi-Wan shook his head. _Please go._

“I don’t want to leave you like this,” said Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan was hyperventilating, and it was starting to make him wheeze. His sore chest heaved while one of the bedside monitors trilled out a warning for his elevated heart rate. Qui-Gon pressed the button for a nurse.

“It’s okay,” Qui-Gon repeated lamely, lifting Obi-Wan’s hand away from the wounds and holding it. “Don’t hurt yourself. This will pass. Try to…try to breathe…”

The last time Obi-Wan had panicked, Barlen had expertly guided him through various breathing exercises. Obi-Wan had trusted him. Before anyone else, Obi-Wan had trusted Barlen.

Qui-Gon tried to remember exactly what Barlen had said. “You’re having another panic attack. You’re going to be fine. Don’t fight it, just breathe.”

A nurse appeared and said the same things, taking the other hand that Qui-Gon wasn’t holding. Together they helped him bring himself down. Obi-Wan caught his breath between painful coughs and lied down on his back, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright sterile lights.

He was a strong kid. Qui-Gon just wished he didn’t have to be.

“I think I know the answer,” said Qui-Gon to the nurse. “Find Dr. Tiaurn, if you would, and tell her I think he might let Barlen do it.”

Tiaurn appeared looking ragged, ready to hear some good news for a change. “Barlen’s coming in in a few hours. We can afford to wait that long. Obi-Wan, you’ve agreed to this?”

Obi-Wan nodded tentatively. Qui-Gon’s heart swelled with sympathy and pride.

* * *

 

“Hi, Obi-Wan, how are you doing?” asked Barlen cheerfully as he entered.

Obi-Wan shrugged and twisted his mouth into a comical I-don’t-know sort of frown.

 _Oh, he’s spacey as hell_ , Qui-Gon thought to himself. Obi-Wan was swaying slightly. The anxiety medication subdued what would have been utter panic down to just moderate uneasiness, but his discomfort was still plain to see.

“I know. I’m just going to get your vitals quick, and then we’ll chat.” Obi-Wan’s movements were slow and wary. “Blood pressure’s high, are you nervous?” Obi-Wan nodded. “That’s okay, this is going to be short and sweet.”

“Let’s have this out first,” he said, clamping off the tubing of Obi-Wan’s current IV. There were unshed tears in Obi-Wan’s eyes as Barlen picked up his hand. “There’s no needle in here, Obi-Wan. Look. They used a needle to put it in, but this right here is just a piece of duraplast holding the tube in place. Ready?” Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and Barlen slid it out.

“Now I’ve got to insert a new one and draw a little bit of blood from you, but the good news is, I only have to poke you once. Where would you like the IV to go?” Obi-Wan pointed to his left arm.

“Good plan.” Barlen smiled. “I’m going to have you lie down on your back, okay? You can turn your head to face Qui-Gon and completely ignore what I’m doing.” He must have figured that position would minimize the damage Obi-Wan could do if he passed out. He was already paling as Barlen tied a tourniquet around his arm and gingerly found the vein with his fingertips. “You’re doing great, Obi-Wan, do you want me to count down, or just get it done with?”

Qui-Gon tried to hand him Lio, but Obi-Wan just shook his head.

“Okay,” the young nurse said, reaching for the tray he had brought. “Now look away.”

Obi-Wan turned his head to the side facing Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon was watching his face for any signs of panic, but so far, everything was under control. He held Obi-Wan’s free hand.

“You’re about to feel a little jab. You can do this,” said Barlen.

“Eyes on me,” Qui-Gon reminded him. Obi-Wan’s grip on his hand suddenly tightened, squeezing until Qui-Gon’s fingertips turned white.

“I’m almost done with the blood draw, then we’ll just hook you up to the fluids again, and you’ll be golden…there.” Barlen set the vials down on the tray. “The needle’s out, now, Obi-Wan. You made it through the hard part. There’s just a couple more steps.”

He finished starting the fluids line and cleaned up before he looked back at Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan was still coming down from the wave of stress.

“That was excellent, well done, Obi-Wan,” said Barlen.

Obi-Wan slumped back into the pillows. His free hand wandered up towards the bandages on his neck, but Qui-Gon caught it and held it again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s over now,” Qui-Gon murmured. Obi-Wan blinked heavily. The adrenaline and the anxiolytic together had drained all the energy from him. Qui-Gon squeezed his hand and brought it up to rest against his chest.

“You did it, Obi-Wan,” said Barlen.

Qui-Gon glanced up at him. “Thank you,” he murmured. Barlen beamed at them.

Qui-Gon sat with him as he lie still, seemingly in a daze.

As the anxiety medication started to wear off, Obi-Wan sat up suddenly, his breathing labored again. Coughs rattled in his sore chest as the heartrate monitor began peeping.

“It’s over, you did it. Nothing bad happened. Obi-Wan, shhh,” For a moment Qui-Gon was afraid the fragile trust between them had been broken, that perhaps Obi-Wan would find himself back at square one, jumping at every touch and every noise in the hospital. It was cruel that he had needed to face his fear so soon.

Obi-Wan tipped to the side and leaned right against Qui-Gon’s chest.

“You made it through. I’m proud of you,” said Qui-Gon as he rubbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder, sort of hugging him sideways. The relief he felt was crushing as Obi-Wan leaned into his touch. He didn’t panic. He relaxed into Qui-Gon’s arms, letting his quiet reassurances carry him back from the brink.

“Not to baby you,” said Qui-Gon. “But I did promise you something nice. Would you say no to another walk in the garden?”

<In a couple minutes?> Obi-Wan typed without shifting position. Qui-Gon was relieved to see him communicating again.

“Of course.”


	7. A Single Spark

Tahl appeared at the Records office with the feisty little detective striding two paces ahead of her.

The lobby was empty. “Where is that Ceri?” Draro complained under her breath. Tahl paused for a moment to take in their surroundings. Bant was here, she could sense it. There was also a lingering presence that she had not felt when she’d visited the office two days ago. It was Dark—not in the way of Dark Force-users, but vile nonetheless.

The intern and the padawan were found crouching in a pile of datatapes in one of the back rooms.

“Someone was looking for something,” Ceri was saying gesturing to the mess on one of the shelves.

“How can you tell?” asked Bant with poorly concealed sarcasm. It all looked equally chaotic to her.

“Good gracious!” Draro blustered over to join them. “Has our storage system been compromised? Why was I not contacted immediately?” the detective demanded.

Tahl pulled Bant away from the arguing, “Bant, what’s going on here?”

“I figured whoever took our copies would want to wipe them out of this database too, if they’re as accessible as you said,” Bant explained. “I was right,” she added with just a touch of defensiveness. “But I think I scared them off while Ceri was recopying the files for me.”

“Bant,” said Tahl in a low voice.

Bant ignored her, plunging ahead. “There was nothing I could do, Master. They disappeared. We searched everywhere. But I found this,”

Bant placed a cylindrical object in Tahl’s hand. It was about as long as her thumb, and had a weak laser projector on one end. As she held it flat in her palm, the laser end recalibrated itself to point towards the far wall. She moved her hand, and it readjusted itself back to the same spot.

“Can’t you feel it? There’s something Dark in the Force around it,” said Bant.

“Yes, I think it’s safe to say this belonged to our thief,” said Tahl. It was better than nothing, but Tahl wasn’t sure how useful a small personal object would really be. She could feel Bant watching her expectantly.

“So we have their compass,” said Tahl carefully.

“It’s more than that!” Bant protested. “It could have some kind of key or weapon hidden inside?”

“It’s a good find, Bant, and it might be useful as evidence. But it seems like it’s just a compass.”

“There’s some kind of pattern engraved in the duraplast. It could be some sort of seal,”

“Fancy compass.”

“I don’t even think it’s pointing north,”

“Fancy _broken_ compass?”

Bant deflated somewhat. Tahl almost sighed. She knew Bant _wanted_ this discovery to be important, but she just wasn’t sure it was. She placed the object back into Bant’s hand.

“It’s not your fault that you couldn’t catch them, Padawan. Why don’t you hang on to that in case it provides any insight?” Bant was hurt, but Tahl turned back to their companions.

“Detective,” she said, laying a hand on Draro’s arm and rescuing the intern from a hysterical lecture. “Someone broke into our rooms as well, to steal the copies you made me yesterday. My padawan believes this may be the same person, trying to cover the tracks of the smugglers we’re investigating,” she spared Bant a nod, and felt a stab of pride flash through the padawan’s Force signature.

“They didn’t take anything,” Ceri repeated. “Two copies of each tape are in the locked drawer under my desk. I planned to give one set to the Jedi, to replace theirs.”

“Good, good,” said Draro.

“You know, whoever it was is probably going to try again,” Bant pointed out.

“We’ll be here when they do,” said Tahl.

* * *

 

“Really, Detective, my padawan and I can cover the building just fine ourselves,” said Tahl for the umpteenth time.

“Nonsense,” said the wiry-haired little woman. “Anyone who wants to tamper with this city’s records will go through me!”

Bant and Tahl exchanged an exasperated sigh through their Force bond. The last thing they needed was an extra civilian in the way if the encounter came to violence.

When it was time for the records office to close, Bant and Tahl left conspicuously through the front doors, and walked halfway to the hotel before doubling back. When they returned, Draro finished her usual routine of locking down the building, then moved her speeder around the block before slipping back through the side entrance herself.

“This could take most of the night,” Tahl pressed again. “Are you sure you won’t let Bant and I take care of it?”

Draro didn’t even deign to respond. Tahl moved on.

“The two of you will keep watch in the lobby while I work on the files. I’ll keep both copies on me; put some blank tapes in the drawer instead. Signal me at the first sign of trouble, Bant.” She placed her spare blaster in Bant’s hand. “Do your best not to engage them at all, but if you must, leave your lightsaber for a last resort.”

“Yes, Master.”

“What about me?” Draro asked.

“Well, as I said, we have things covered, but you can be a second pair of eyes,” Tahl shrugged before taking the original datatapes into the office and leaving them alone.

Most of the police reports contained little of interest. Tahl listened to endless descriptions of drug trafficking charges, most for pharmaceutical-grade sedatives and unauthorized stun weapons that Tahl typically associated with bounty hunters. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. Tahl kept a list of all the company names that had been associated with the transactions, even though she suspected most of them were facades, phony names that would not lead her to the true recipient of the cargo. One that seemed to crop up rather often was _Blackwater Systems_.

Tahl ran back through her notes, searching for a pattern. Most of the cases that mentioned Blackwater Systems seemed to concern the same three drugs, two known medications and a third, unidentified substance. The investigators had classified it as an undetermined sedative, and included a lab analysis of the compound but noted that its effect and usage were unknown.

Tahl fired up the holonet projector in Draro’s office and ran a basic search for _Blackwater Systems_. If it was a business, it certainly wasn’t a legal one, because she could find no information on their products or services. The only thing she found were the records of several property sales throughout the galaxy. They seemed to own a huge parcel of land in the mountains of Falleen, but Tahl didn’t care about that. More interesting to her was the sale of an old prison complex previously owned by Milfront County, Jacquen.

Another quick search confirmed that this building had in fact been the site of the bombing that Qui-Gon had witnessed. Tahl reached out to Bant in the Force, making sure everything was alright in the lobby. No sooner had she felt Bant’s prickle of reassuring annoyance than Tahl was typing Qui-Gon’s frequency into her personal comm.

Qui-Gon picked up almost immediately.

“I have something for you,” said Tahl, and briefly explained. She concluded, “My thinking is, the same people who bought these drugs are the owners of the building where you found him. Qui-Gon, this could be a big step.”

“It could be,” said Qui-Gon slowly.

“The sedatives are probably irrelevant, but there’s this other compound…I’ll send you what I have about it. You can ask his doctor if they detected anything similar in his system—or ask the Jacquen police about the autopsies of the other victims. I’ll reach out to the Jedi Healers too, see if they think it could be a force suppressant.”

“…That sounds…promising,” said Qui-Gon.

“Hey, is something the matter?”

Qui-Gon ran a hand through his beard with an air of someone thoroughly exhausted. “Not really. They’re optimistic about Obi-Wan’s new cocktail of antibiotics, but so far all it’s done is bother his stomach. They’re worried about his kidney and liver function too now. I don’t have the heart to tell him they’re going to want to do more blood tests.”

“If we can figure out what’s cutting him off from the Force and reverse it, he’ll heal much faster,” Tahl tried to point out.

Qui-Gon sighed again. “ _If_ they can figure it out, and _if_ we can reverse it.”

Tahl rolled her eyes. “At least we have a lead, Qui-Gon. Bant and I have another situation on our hands, but I’ll reach out to the Halls of Healing in the morning.”

“I’ll contact the police, and check with Obi-Wan’s medical team,” Qui-Gon reluctantly agreed.

“Good. I’ll comm you tomorrow, Qui.”

“Alright, Jinn out.”

The transmission ended with a click. Tahl sat forward in her chair.

She was perusing through the police records again when the Force erupted with a sudden rush of adrenaline.

* * *

 

Bant’s thighs ached from crouching in the hallway. Draro was meant to be watching the security camera while she kept a direct eye on the lobby. It was too dry for her liking, and she was starting to feel overheated. The night was ticking by, and nothing was happening.

A coolness crept over Bant, a soothing change at first. Then she recognized the presence in the Force that she had caught a glimpse of earlier that day, and her stomach filled with dread.

“They’re here,” Bant whispered to the detective, reaching out towards Tahl with her feelings.

The lobby appeared empty, but suddenly the drawer containing the decoy tapes popped open.

Bant’s comm crackled to life.

They did not need to discuss what they had both felt. “Secure the second floor and wait for me on the landing,” said Tahl’s voice in a strained whisper. “I’ll take the first floor.”

“Master, let me help,”

“Help by guarding the office, and keeping Draro out of the way,” Tahl suggested.

Bant wanted to argue, but Tahl ended the transmission. Sometimes they worked together like a dream, like a Master and Padawan should, but other times Bant couldn’t help but feel like Tahl would rather work alone.

Bant and the detective surreptitiously made their way up the stairs. Bant sent Draro to check that both the hallway and the office door were locked. There were no windows, so the stairs should have been the only point of access.

“Staircase and above are secure, Master,”

There was no reply, from the comm or the Force.

Bant couldn’t help herself from peeking around the landing. She saw a wispy figure clad in black and green flit across the floor, carrying what might be a satchel of datatapes.

Tahl was deep in battle meditation, wielding her lightsaber at an odd angle. Bant looked closer and realized that there was something wrapped around it, like a long thin whip clutched in the assailant’s hand. Tahl pulled her weapon free and whirled around, but her attacker slipped easily out of range and wound up to flick the whip again.

Tahl heard its electrical charge crackle as it slithered across the floor and rose her saber perfectly to meet it near the base. Back and forth they fought. Not for the first time, Bant was amazed by her master’s effortless skill, each movement flowing smoothly into the next as though she were showing off in the training salles and not fighting a real, unpredictable fight. She could tell Tahl was working to disarm the unknown assailant, not to seriously injure her. The same could not be said for her opponent. The other was fighting ruthlessly, punctuating her blows with aggressive outbursts.

Draro caught Bant gripping the handrail of the staircase.

“Let your master handle it,” said the detective. Bant bristled at being condescended to. “You have orders to follow, I understand.”

“She can’t _see_ ,” Bant hissed. “I can help without disobeying.” Tahl’s blaster felt heavy in Bant’s pocket. Why had she given it to her, if not for a situation like this?

Draro saw her grasp the blaster’s hilt from within the folds of her robes and shook her head.

“Oh, no, dear”

Bant ignored her. She set the blaster to stun, knowing that was what Tahl would tell her to do. She refused to believe that Tahl would want her to stand idly by.

“This is Jedi business, Mrs. Draro. I have to protect my master,” said Bant with all the politeness she could plaster on her face.

“Now, our job is to protect the datatapes, young one. We can only hope they are still in the office. Come on,” she tugged at Bant’s elbow, throwing off the sight of her blaster.

“Let me go,” Bant snapped, pulling her arm free and training the blaster again on the masked assailant.

The attacker had come to a halt, sneering something Bant couldn’t make out. She had a clear shot now. She sent a silent prayer into the Force, _Keep her there, Tahl. Don’t you move—_ Bant took a deep breath before she fired.

Detective Draro grabbed Bant’s arm again, jerking the blaster's sight off her target. But it was too late for Bant to stop her claws from squeezing the trigger. As though in slow motion Bant watched the bolt whizz past the assailant and dangerously close to Tahl’s shoulder. The Jedi flinched from the sudden sound ( _She’s not hit, Force, Don’t let her have been hit,_ )

That momentary distraction was enough for the attacker to bring her whip down hard. On some level Bant was conscious of watching the lightsaber slip from Tahl’s fingers as her whole body jerked at the electrical charge, and before thinking Bant’s legs were in motion, clambering down the stairs and on her way to Tahl’s side.

Later, Bant would not be able to say what hit her. Only that the sharp pain in the middle of her back had made the whole world pitch forward.

* * *

 

 

Obi-Wan was breathing noisily, looking up at Qui-Gon with glassy eyes. The rise and fall of his chest was unnaturally fast and shallow, as though breathing was a terrible effort.

It had been getting worse for several days, but it wasn’t until the past hour that Qui-Gon had started to feel truly worried.

Qui-Gon heard Dr. Tiaurn trying to get his attention. “Qui-Gon? We’re going to take him upstairs for some scans. You can wait here, but it could be a few hours.”

“What?”

They were already rolling Obi-Wan’s bed out of the room.

“Wait, take this,” said Qui-Gon, handing Lio to one of the aides. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was to be stranded without a way to communicate.

The aide set the little speech droid down by Obi-Wan’s side, and like that, they were gone. Qui-Gon sank back into his chair, trying to tell himself that it was going to be fine.

As the doctor predicted, Obi-Wan was gone for quite a while. Not for the first time, Qui-Gon missed the Force bond that had once connected them, which might have allowed him to check up on Obi-Wan from here and at least get a sense of whether he was doing alright.

Qui-Gon wasn’t conscious of falling asleep in the chair. He jerked back to alertness twice with the sensation of lost time, but he didn’t think he had fully dozed off. The third time, however…

 

_Qui-Gon rarely dreamed, but in that moment he found himself in a dark room, compact like the inside of a freighter. It was divided up by rows of hard steel bunks. His body didn’t feel like his own – it was smaller, for starters, and far younger. He lay on his back, one hand clutching a padawan braid that barely reached his shoulder. He glanced around at the other occupants, all women and children. He was cold, hungry and far from home, feeling very, very small. He was trying hard to be brave, but hot tears kept rolling down his cheeks._

_His cries attracted attention from the bunk above. “Shh, now, it’s alright,” soothed a woman’s voice. She climbed down and sat beside him, tucking her dark hair behind her ears as she craned her head to sit under the bunk. She was probably not yet half Qui-Gon’s age, but to Obi-Wan’s juvenile perception she seemed old. They didn’t exchange names. Obi-Wan would soon learn that no one did in this place._

_“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”_

_Obi-Wan sniffled plaintively, too far gone in his emotions to care whether he sounded childish. “I want my master,” he whined._

_She looked mildly surprised. “You were a slave before?”_

_“A-a padawan. To a Jedi Knight.”_

_Her face grew stern. “Don’t go telling people here about that,” she warned. The woman’s eyes fell on his fist clutching the braid. “Take that out before someone sees. It will be worse for you if they know you have…powers.”_

_Obi-Wan’s cries redoubled._

_“Shh, I know it’s overwhelming. Truly, I know. I wasn’t born into this either.” She gently moved his hand out of the way and began undoing the ties in his hair, starting at the bottom by combing her fingers through the tightly coiled braid. “Just calm down. How old are you?”_

_“Thirteen.”_

_“Thirteen,” the woman repeated sadly. “There now, that’s better.” Obi-Wan had quieted his sobs and was making progress towards catching his breath. Her voice had a soothing quality, like his crèche-master’s when lulling youngsters to sleep. “Many roads lead away from a slaver’s ship, sweetheart. There’s no use worrying about where we’ll wind up until we get there.”_

_Obi-Wan looked up at her gratefully with red-rimmed eyes._

_“We’ll be in hyperspace soon, so—”_

_“Hyperspace?” Obi-Wan choked. That was going to make it a whole lot harder for Qui-Gon to find him. “M-my master won’t leave me. They have to find us before we leave the system.”_

_The woman frowned, neither encouraging nor denying this hope._

_“You should try to rest,” she said. “Once we’re out of orbit, there’s no telling how much time we’ll get before our next stop.”_

_Obi-Wan severely doubted he would be able to sleep, but as she lay a hand on his brow he found it felt nice to close his eyes. He’d never encountered a non-Force-sensitive who could make the whole world seem so still. <Unless she was strong in the Force?> Obi-Wan thought sluggishly, his heart rate already evening out as she soothed. “That’s it, it will be alright,” she murmured over and over._

 

Qui-Gon awoke with a jolt, filled with a primal sort of gratitude for this unknown woman who had comforted his boy when he wasn’t there to do so. It took him a moment to realize that something had changed. That a single strand of another’s Life Energy was flickering up against his own in the Force. Where there had been emptiness, there was the slightest spark of pain and confusion and _light_.

Qui-Gon was still trying to make sense of this new feeling when a nurse he didn’t recognize peeked into the room.

“Mr. Jinn,” she said, “You’re needed up in radiology. They said to hurry.”


	8. Ask and Answer

The Force had never felt emptier.

Qui-Gon was so sure of the flickering presence he had felt, but as he reached for it now he found himself alone again.

_[Obi-Wan?]_

Qui-Gon went straight to the radiology floor as he’d been told, but Obi-Wan was nowhere to be found. He paced up and down the hall twice before he finally found someone to tell him what had happened.

“We sent for you to calm him—some equipment malfunctioned, we thought he was just startled by the noise,” the tall Torgruta doctor explained. “—but then his vitals started to plummet.”

“What happened?”

“Well, that’s the odd thing. My assistant said some droids that weren’t even in use started to spark and sort of…well,”

Qui-Gon waited expectantly.

“He _says_ they hovered off the ground, which seems…well, anyway, no one was hurt,” the radiologist said. “As soon as it stopped, he started to deteriorate. They treated here until he stabilized, then transferred him straight to PICU.”

Qui-Gon hurried to pediatric intensive care, only to be told to wait outside. Several minutes later, Dr. Tiaurn finally met him at the door.

“They’re trying to tell me Obi-Wan just magically levitated a bunch of imaging droids,” she said, already walking back the way she’d come and gesturing for Qui-Gon to follow. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“I felt him touch the Force—for the first time in _years_ —but it only lasted a moment.”

Tiaurn nodded, her suspicions confirmed. “I was hoping it was just a crazy coincidence, the droids and the shock setting in at the same time. I suppose I’ll reach out to some of my Force-Healer colleagues, see if mild suppressants are indicated in a case like this.”

“Excuse me?” said Qui-Gon. “We need to do the opposite, he needs to get the Force _back_.”

“It almost killed him.”

Qui-Gon’s heart missed a beat.

“Is he alright?”

The doctor nodded. “For now. He recovered surprisingly quickly, but if the situation gets dicey again I expect they’ll decide to intubate,” Tiaurn continued. “And we want to avoid that if at all possible. Ah, he’s awake now.” They had arrived.

Obi-Wan made a feeble attempt to lift his head when he saw Qui-Gon.

_[For a moment we were connected, Padawan, as we once were.]_

But Obi-Wan couldn’t hear Qui-Gon reaching out to him.

“Did you feel it too?” he mumbled aloud as he leaned over the bed.

Obi-Wan looked across the room full of unfamiliar doctors, eyes so wide that his face looked skeletal. Qui-Gon felt a sensation like ice water running down his spine.

Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon’s gaze and stirred as if he wanted to speak. He made another attempt to lift his head. His hand drifted from his side, searching for something.

“Where’s Lio?” Qui-Gon asked Obi-Wan. He turned around and interrupted the doctors’ conversation. “What happened to his ‘droid?”

Qui-Gon was sifting through the blankets in a frantic search when he felt a tiny tug at his sleeve. He turned back to Obi-Wan.

“What is it?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened as Obi-Wan murmured through his oxygen mask, “…I really don’t feel well.”

It was a strained, hushed sound that could barely even be classified as a whisper.

“I know,” Qui-Gon whispered back, his brow furrowing in sympathy. They were the first words Obi-Wan had consciously spoken since the rescue, but as much as Qui-Gon wanted to feel pleased, he suspected it was a bad sign if Obi-Wan felt so ill that he had been compelled to speak up about it.

 _It’s going to be alright,_ Qui-Gon wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat.

An unfamiliar nurse picked up Obi-Wan’s left hand. “Hey Obi-Wan? This is just the blood pressure medicine Dr. Rutgers told you about, and your next dose of painkiller too, should help you get some rest. I know you don’t like to watch, just look over at Dad for a minute.”

Obi-Wan seemed too tired to care much, but he held the corner of Qui-Gon’s sleeve as she gave the medications through his IV.

Qui-Gon wanted to reassure him, but he remained frozen. He watched as the activity around them continued, the staff talking in lowered voices. Obi-Wan observed with bleary eyes, rapidly growing more relaxed.

Qui-Gon inhaled deeply, thinking of the morning the Mind Healer had told him that their bond was gone—neither neatly sealed off like Dooku’s nor traumatically severed like Feemor’s or Xanatos’s, but a faded scar across his Force signature. They’d told him that the most likely explanation was that Obi-Wan had died—and this evidence had been used to argue in favor of calling the search teams home.

It had been so wonderful to feel connected to someone again, however briefly. He refused to believe that it had done Obi-Wan harm.

Someone brought a folding chair, and he sat in it. Sometimes the doctors tried to talk to him as they popped in and out, checking this and that, but Qui-Gon ignored them. Obi-Wan fell asleep in spite of all their prodding and fussing.

Qui-Gon saw himself sitting beside the bed as if watching from above. He felt nothing.

He needed Tahl.

 

* * *

 

Tahl’s first thought was that she couldn’t breathe.

She quickly realized that this was not strictly true, but that her airway was constricted by the sensation of something wrapped around her neck. A Force-blocking collar, she realized. Without the Force to dampen the pain, the deep electrical burn across her leg was throbbing.

She had been moved. Her surroundings offered no clue as to where she was or how much time had passed. She prayed that Bant had gotten away.

Familiar footsteps approached from behind. The attacker had changed her shoes, but Tahl recognized the way she walked.

“Whatever is in this for you,” she reasoned, “Is it really worth the trouble the Jedi Council is going to give you?”

“You have no idea what’s in this for me,” a voice snarled.

“But I know you’re snatching Force-sensitives from dark corners of the galaxy where you think no one will miss them,” said Tahl.

“Is anyone going to miss you, Jedi?”

Indeed, the Jedi Order would certainly attempt to come to Tahl’s rescue. Kidnapping her didn’t make sense if the plan was to ship her off to wherever they were torturing the others. It would lead the Jedi right to them.        

“You must know they’ll find me,” said Tahl, fishing for more insight, hoping her attacker was cocky enough to keep talking.

“Awfully sure, aren’t you? I don’t know, I heard my client managed to keep one of theirs as one of her little pets for _years_.”

Tahl exhaled forcefully, exerting careful effort not to betray her anger.

“Someone you are fond of, I presume?” the woman taunted further. “Well I’m sorry you have to find out like this—he was in the facility the Jacquen police busted. Huge explosion. No survivors.”

Tahl snorted, then cursed herself as the woman laughed aloud.

“Unless…”

Tahl’s heart sank as she realized what was going on. This business with the datatapes, it was clean-up work. Qui-Gon’s discovery had blown open an inter-system scandal, and they were scrambling underground. They knew perfectly well that Obi-Wan had survived, and just like the police records, he was a loose end that they wanted to tie up. Tahl could hear the woman breathing, she was leaning in so close. She steeled her expression.

“You weren’t wrong – my client wouldn’t thank me for dragging in the likes of you,” the woman continued. “We’d have the Order busting down our doors if we openly hunted down proper Jedi. But that boy was an unfortunate oversight. Usually the ones we grab off the slave market are appropriately unafflilated. It’s hardly _my_ fault some scum on Vanquor were stupid enough to mess with the Jedi, but looks bad on my business either way.”

None of this was new information to Tahl. Qui-Gon had tracked down the slavers who had kidnapped Obi-Wan on Vanquor, but it seemed he’d either caught the wrong ship or Obi-Wan had already been sold on.

“I think the little Jedi survived,” said the woman. “And I think you know where he is.”

There it was.

“You’re wrong,” said Tahl, but the woman just huffed in disbelief. Tahl was reminded suddenly of Detective Draro and her oddly pushy questions. _We work very closely with the Jacquen police force. It’s all very proper I assure you._ Tahl inhaled sharply and continued, “I would guess he is in the care of the Healers in our Temple.”

“That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it,” she replied. “But unfortunately I think you ought to think a little harder.” Suddenly the woman grabbed Tahl’s hand and placed an object in her palm. It was a lightsaber. She ran her thumb along the ridges in the side—it was _Bant’s_ lightsaber.

“If you can’t remember, maybe your apprentice will.”

 

* * *

“Hey, come on!”

Bant awoke to someone jostling her roughly. It was the Falleen intern, Ceri.

“Bant, you have to help me get out of here!” said Ceri.

Bant coughed and looked around. There were shelves lined with bottles and vacuum droids lining the cramped space—it looked like a closet. Bant was propped up against a wall and sore all over.

“What?”

“Somebody stunned us and locked us in. What happened to your teacher?”

“She’s hurt,” Bant remembered suddenly.

She shuddered as she remembered the sound Tahl had made when the electro-whip had snapped across her thigh. It had been Draro who had thrown off Bant’s aim, but it was still Bant’s blaster shot that had distracted Tahl and allowed it to happen. Then the thief had apparently stunned Bant too— _ugh_.

_[Master? Are you alright? Are you there?]_

Bant could sense that Tahl was at least a few kilometers away. She was probably wounded, possibly in danger, and for what? They’d almost definitely lost the datatapes. Bant wondered bitterly if anyone would trust her with anything ever again. If they did, she probably wouldn’t deserve it.

She checked her pockets – no lightsaber, no blaster. Not surprising.

Ceri had now turned to jostling the door handle. The door was bolted from the outside and built of sturdy wood, and it did not budge.

“Let’s check around, see if there’s a fire alarm or something we can pull,” Bant suggested.

While they combed the tiny closet space, moving tools and peering around shelves, Bant told Ceri everything she remembered about the stakeout, and the woman with the whip who had moved without making a sound.

“And you think she kidnapped Master Tahl? Do you think she has Mrs. Draro too?”

“We’re going to get them back,” said Bant resolutely. She pulled the cylindrical compass out of her pocket. “This belonged to whoever tried to steal the datatapes in the first place. Do you recognize this symbol?”

Ceri studied it for a moment. “I’ve never seen it before.” She pressed the button, prompting the little laser to turn on. “This isn’t a compass. It doesn’t point north.”

“Tahl thought it might just be broken.”

Ceri ran her thumb over the symbol, and the square in the middle of it slid to the side on a little groove. “Whoa!” She tried to slide another part of the symbol to the side, and the design separated into little square tiles. When she moved all the tiles over to one side, a little extension popped out like a multitool army knife. “Hey Bant!”

One of the arms of the multitool looked like a screwdriver.

“Maybe we can get the door off its hinges,” Bant suggested.

They took turns working at the screws for the better part of an hour. The screws were a bit too small for the tool, and the tiles on the side of the cylinder kept sliding around whenever the person holding it adjusted their grip. It wasn’t until Bant’s claws were going numb that they finally managed to free themselves.

“Thank the gods,” Ceri panted as they stumbled out into the corridor off the atrium of the records center.

“Come on!”

Bant led the way back to Ceri’s desk in the front. The decoy tapes lay in the open drawer, untouched. That probably meant that the real ones were gone.

“We need to call the police,” said Ceri.

“No,” said Bant quickly. “We can’t.” Tahl had said she didn’t trust everyone working on the case. But no, of course she hadn’t shared any more specific information with Bant. She’d done everything she could to keep Bant out of the way of this investigation.

“Why not?”

“We just can’t. Until we find Tahl, we’re on our own here,” Bant continued. “She isn’t far. Let’s see what we can find out that might lead us there.”

The longer Bant searched the atrium, the more dread and panic began to well up in her. There was nothing, not so much as a footprint to go off. Tahl could be on a transport somewhere growing further by the second—or _worse_ —

“Can you come and help me?” Bant snapped across the room at Ceri, who had been sitting at the desk for a while.

“Bant, I want you to come look at this,” Ceri whispered.

Bant sighed and made her way back to the desk. “What?”

Ceri was holding the cylindrical compass on its side, and playing with the moveable tiles. “I was just looking at the shapes in the pattern, and something seemed a bit odd,” Ceri explained. “These two tiles, they’re sort of a unique shape. Look,” She slid the two tiles together, and the lines carved into them formed an oblong shape with a little rectangular outcrop. “I couldn’t figure out why it was familiar, but I think it’s because it kind of looks like the bridge across from the city center.”

Bant wasn’t sure she saw what Ceri was talking about, but she nodded slowly.

“And then look,” Ceri continued, sliding the tiles around. “There’s the town hall, and the building we’re in now…it all fits.”

“Huh,” said Bant. “I never would have picked up on that.”

Ceri sat up a little straighter, smiling. “In the first few months of my internship, basically my whole job was digitizing and sorting historical maps of the city.”

“What’s that?” Bant asked, pointing to a circle with some squiggly lines inside.

“That’s what I wanted to show you,” said Ceri excitedly. “That’s the character for ‘A’ in the Falleen language, and also the word for ‘hide’.”

“So something could be hidden there?”

“It’s worth finding out,”

Bant looked out across the room. “We don’t have much else to go on. How fast can we get there?”

* * *

Ceri led the way down to the bridge across from the town hall. They walked down to the riverbank to the spot marked on the makeshift map.

The river was dark and murky, too black to see beneath the surface. Tethered to a post on the bank, unmarked and unassuming, was a landing pad for a small spacecraft.

“There,” Bant sidled up to the bank and put one hand in the dark water. A thought occurred to her. “Ceri, toss me the compass!”

The Falleen girl obeyed. Bant closed the hatch that was exposed by the map tiles, and carefully submerged the object in the river.

Suddenly the murky water was ablaze in light. The tiny laser beam lit up the particles in the water and revealed the bright green weeds and algae-covered rocks beneath. She pointed the laser towards the underside of the landing pad.

Bant laughed out loud, already pulling off her boots. “Can you see that?” she asked Ceri. “There’s some kind of access tunnel built up underneath the pad. Somebody lands their little cruiser over here, and they load…whatever they’re smuggling…from the underside. I bet you can’t see this little swampy area from any of the buildings on the other side of the bridge. It’s perfect!”

Bant threw her ‘saber belt and outermost tunic to the side and stuck the laser in her pocket. “I’m going in to get a better look.”

“Wait, Bant,” said Ceri suddenly. “I have to confess something. This makes me really nervous. The map, and the writing on it—those wouldn’t be much help to anyone who wasn’t a local. And I didn’t think anything of it before, but you were stunned in the _back_ —wasn’t the person who attacked Tahl in front of you?”

“I know. I thought of that too,” said Bant. “Listen, these drug smugglers everyone's been talking about, they aren’t just drug smugglers. Tahl and I are here because we think they’ve been kidnapping and torturing people for years, and Tahl and Draro were pretty sure that somebody in the city government here is complicit in it. Did she mention anything to you about it?”

Ceri shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t know how that could be possible.”

Bant took a deep breath. “You don’t have to come with me. This is already more danger than you thought you were signing up for, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“I want to help,” said Ceri immediately. A spark of adventure lit up her eyes. “Mrs. Draro is a good friend of my parents’, and she’s done so much for me. We need to rescue her—them, and I don’t know who else to trust.”

“Okay,” said Bant. “Then here goes. I can stay underwater longer than you can, but if I’m gone for more than, say, 20 minutes, try to see what’s going on.”

By the light of the laser, Bant swam along the side of the access tunnel until it ran into solid land. Built into the muddy side of the bank beside it was a circular panel. Bant shined the laser at it, and a keypad on the side lit up.

Bant glanced behind her, then tried keying in the symbol from the map. To her surprise, the panel slid open, revealing a small chamber just wide enough to stand in. She swam inside, and it clanged shut again, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight to Bant’s heart.

A loud mechanical sound began, and the water level in the chamber began to sink. When all the river water had been pumped out of the chamber, the door on the other side opened.

Mindful of her wet clothes, Bant stepped gingerly into the hallway that was revealed. She wondered whether the chamber also worked in reverse, or whether she would need to find another exit. She was thinking of going back to find out, then perhaps returning with Ceri, when she heard voices and footsteps coming her way.

Bant inhaled sharply and turned down the first tunnel she saw. The voices kept growing closer. She tried two locked doors before she found one that opened. She slipped inside and carefully slid it shut again.

“I’m pleased that you’ve decided to follow orders this time,” said a raspy female voice. Bant pressed herself up against the duracrete wall, hoping the sound of her breathing wouldn’t carry. Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears.

“You’re certain that everything has been destroyed?” the voice continued.

“I’m positive. We shredded the tapes and wiped the information from the main server and catalog. It’s as if they were never entered into the records at all.”

“Good, good.”

“Now, please…surely we can stop tracking those ch-ch-children…”

Bant heard a sudden shuffling and a soft thud against the wall. “If you had brought them in as I asked in the first place, they would be nice and safe in our custody. As it turns out, Arbor wants something else from the Jedi. If you value our partnership, you will help those idiots bring the apprentice to me.”

“I don’t believe I ever agreed…to…” the second voice petered out as the women walked past Bant’s door.

* * *

 

Ceri paced back and forth on the riverbank, her long ponytail swishing in the wind. She decided that Bant had been gone for too long.

She could not breathe the water like a Mon Calamari, but she could hold her breath longer than most humanoid species. Ceri had never visited the homeworld of her people, but she knew they were well adapted to semiaquatic life. Without the light to guide her, she would have to find her way by listening.

By the echoing of the river’s currents, she found the tunnel, then the panel, and guessed the password much as Bant had. As the chamber drained of water, she found herself in a long, uniform-looking hallway, and realized almost immediately that she had made a terrible mistake.


	9. Evasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 1st birthday to this fic!! If you are still reading from last November, words can't describe how grateful I am (and if you started reading more recently ily too obviously) 
> 
> As I mentioned on tumblr I can't commit to Nanowrimo this year, but my more moderate goal is to finish one more chapter of this story by the end of the month.

Qui-Gon sat with him through the night and the next day, waiting for a change in Obi-Wan's condition that never came, feeling the numbness creeping in to drown the fear.

The Mind-Healers used to tell him to use his senses to ground himself in the moment -- but it was easier not to be present when his only company was Obi-Wan's raspy breathing. Earlier he had accomplished the small feat of sending a comm message to Tahl, but he was secretly relieved that she hadn’t responded.

"He's gone cold," Qui-Gon remarked to no one at all. His hand ghosted across Obi-Wan's cool cheek. Obi-Wan was tucked in with heated blankets but his body temperature still hovered below normal.

There happened to be a doctor in the room, who said something in reply, but his words passed Qui-Gon by as though he couldn't hear. As if he existed on an entirely different plane, and everything that assaulted Qui-Gon’s senses was just a complicated illusion.

Qui-Gon couldn't even bring himself to speak with Barlen when the young nurse stopped to say hello on his way to his shift on the other ward.

"Um, Mr. Jinn,” he whispered, nervous voice from the very first day returning as he addressed Qui-Gon alone. It was like night and day, his demeanor with his younger patients versus with Qui-Gon, who stood a full two heads higher than him. “It may not look like anything is happening, but his body's hard at work fighting the infection," he said carefully. "You know, I’ve seen a lot of kids who really do pick up on their visitor's emotions. Try to take plenty of breaks and care for yourself, so you can always have a brave face while you're in this room."

Qui-Gon didn't know how to tell him that it didn't matter, because he wasn't real, and none of this was happening. He remained solemnly at his post, Obi-Wan's ice-cold hand pressed between both of his own as if to warm it.

Sometimes Obi-Wan would wake, but he was never lucid. He spoke from time to time, usually incoherent nonsense or pleas for help. Mostly he mumbled that he was too cold. Hearing Obi-Wan’s voice stirred something in Qui-Gon, but not quite enough to shake him from his emotional detachment.

“You know, Qui-Gon, it has been almost two days since you’ve left this room for more than a minute,” he was vaguely aware of Dr. Tiaurn’s voice saying. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in offering a sleep aid?”

Qui-Gon sat up a little bit, causing a horrible ache in his back. He gave her a look of confusion. “He’s not coming fully awake, I don’t think.”

“I didn’t mean for Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon turned away again, and refused to acknowledge anyone else.

* * *

 

Ceri caught only a fleeting glimpse of the two women walking through the tunnel by the secret underwater entrance, but it filled her stomach with horror. She convinced herself that she had not seen what she’d thought. She shook her head to clear it. She needed to find Bant, and make a plan to rescue Mrs. Draro and Bant’s master.

She crept through the tunnel, taking the opposite turn as the two who had just walked by. She found that the complex was a veritable labyrinth of long corridors—a challenge even for her strong sense of direction.

By her estimation, she must be underneath the town hall by now. She guessed this might be the center of the complex, and as good a place as any to start looking.

The sound of footsteps sent her scrambling behind a propped-open door. “Lock this up—oh, and this one too,” a silky voice was saying. “It was sufficient proof to convince her that we have the apprentice…which we soon will.”

Through a hairline crack Ceri watched two relatively small objects change hands.

“Is Arbor coming for our guest?”

“Don’t be stupid, this is below her pay grade.”

The second set of footsteps stopped short. “And I presume you think it’s below yours as well?”

The first figure hissed. “ _I_ do not work for Arbor, Arbor contracted _me_. I get a nice handful of credits, and it just might keep my most lucrative client in business. I ship out tomorrow morning regardless, though I’d like to make good on my promises first.”

Ceri recognized first voice as the woman who had dueled Master Tahl, but now a blaster adorned her hip in place of the whip. Through the crack Ceri noticed that the long blonde hair—it must have been a wig—had been replaced with a silver circlet on the woman’s shaved head.

A loud beep echoed through the tunnel, and both humans pulled communicators out of their pockets.

“Call that fool of a detective and tell her the children have found us before she could find them,” the bounty hunter grinned before jogging back the way she had come.

Ceri swallowed hard. That sounded like somebody had caught Bant, and it was only a matter of time before the entire complex was locked down and searched. That meant the game was up for her, too. As soon as the bounty hunter was out of sight, alarms near the top of the tunnel wall began to flash and scream. The second human hesitated, still gripping the weapons that had been handed to him.

He turned to run in the opposite direction, but not before his face made contact with Ceri’s fist.

She ripped the lightsabers out of his hand and sprinted down the hall before he could recover from the shock. She slipped both weapons into the deep pocket of her trousers.

Ceri’s long legs carried her down the corridors at a heart-pounding pace. She turned left, then right, then left twice more. She wondered how far this underground labyrinth could possibly stretch – if her senses were correct, she was beneath the street where the archive building stood.

“Bant?!”

“Oh, thank the Force,” Bant sighed. She grabbed Ceri’s sleeve and started running, dragging her friend along behind.

“I hacked into a data system,” Bant said. “I was trying to look up a layout of this place, but I guess it triggered the alarm. I think I know where they’re keeping them.”

“Bant, about that,” Ceri said, remembering the faces she had briefly glimpsed as she snuck into the compound.

Bant didn’t pause to listen. “Come on!”

Ceri allowed herself to be led along. Bant closed her eyes as she ran.

“I can feel her. It’s faint, though, she’s at least partially cut off from the Force.”

Guards were posted in the next hallway they turned down. “Here,” Ceri whispered, handing one of the lightsabers to Bant. Bant shook her head and pointed at the other one. Ceri swapped them.

“Do you know how to use one?” Bant whispered back.

“Seems intuitive enough,” said Ceri, grinning as she realized what Bant was giving her permission to do.

On Bant’s signal they ambushed the guards. Ceri pressed the button and was nearly unbalanced by the bolt of energy that flared to life in front of her. She expected it to feel heavy, like a sword, but it was lighter than air and burning blinding blue.

Bant strode in front, covering them both from oncoming blaster fire with graceful swipes of her saber. Ceri followed up behind, mostly just trying not to burn herself or the wall with Tahl’s.

One guard shot low, and Bant drove her blade into floor to catch it. The other guard stepped around to round on Ceri, but Bant positioned herself between them again.

Bant sent one blaster bolt flying back at the first guard, catching him in the shoulder. He hit the ground hard, letting his weapon skitter across the floor. Bant caught it with her foot. In the same moment, the other guard’s blaster was pointed at Bant’s other side.

“Watch out!” Ceri cried as she swung Tahl’s ‘saber in desperation, managing to neatly lop off the barrel of the blaster. The first guard had hauled himself to his feet and both scrambled away.

“That was cool,” Ceri breathed as she deactivated the blade.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” said Bant. “But soon everybody down here is going to know where we are now.” She turned her attention to the door. The lock was simple enough to pry.

Tahl was alone in the room and bound to a durasteel chair by the wrists and ankles. It was obviously not meant to function as a holding cell.

Panic flickered across Tahl’s face as Bant and Ceri entered.

“What are you girls doing?” she asked carefully.

“Oh you know, the usual, Master.” Bant quipped, wondering where the uneasiness on Tahl’s face was coming from. “Narrowly escaping.”

Bant undid Tahl’s bonds, then together they prized the force-blocking collar from her neck.

The bond between them exploded in a sudden warning _[She’s a traitor, Bant,]_

“What?” said Bant out loud, causing Tahl to glare.

_[The attack on the archives was a trap, and Ceri and the detective helped them spring it.]_

_[No!]_

_[Bant—]_

_[That doesn’t make sense, Master, Ceri helped me find this place. She just wants to rescue her boss.]_

_[Draro isn’t being held. She’s working for them.]_

“You’re injured,” Bant said, changing the subject abruptly as Tahl tried to stand and barely-concealed pain flickered through their bond. The burns on her leg hadn’t been treated.

“A matter for another time,” said Tahl.

“I doubt we’ll be able to get out the way we came in,” said Ceri. “I-I think I have an idea, though.”

Bant nodded. “Let’s go, talk later.”

 _[Padawan,]_ said Tahl warningly.

_[She did save my life, Master.]_

_[How does she know her way around down here, have you thought of that? We could be walking into another trap.]_

_[Not as if we have much choice.]_

But to be fair, Ceri hadn’t mentioned anything about Draro, which left a queasy feeling in Bant’s stomach. Could it really be true that her new friend had known all along what was going on?

Alarms were still blaring in the corridor, reminding Bant that their troubles weren’t over yet.

 _[They’re after Obi-Wan, Bant.]_ Tahl warned as she limped behind.

Bant grit her teeth as Ceri led them back to the rooms where Bant had found the data centre and up a winding flight of stairs. At the top was a hatch, which Ceri pried open with a cloud of dust and a loud clatter. They emerged in the back room of the records center, surrounded by mountains and mountains of tapes and flimsis. It was little wonder Bant had not noticed the hatch in the floor the last time she’d entered this room – there was barely a corner of carpet visible under the chaos.

“Listen,” said Ceri, turning to them with tears in her eyes. “I think…I’m pretty sure I saw Mrs. Draro talking to the tall woman—the bounty hunter.” Ceri glanced guiltily towards Tahl’s mangled leg. “She was saying something about destroying data tapes for them—I just can’t believe she would do that. I didn’t want to believe it, but…well, the fact that there’s a passage here, I mean, someone in the records center’s gotta be pretty deep in this scandal. I just never thought…”

“We already knew, Ceri,” said Tahl kindly.

“She got me this internship. I just…what am I supposed to do? Here—” Ceri produced Tahl’s lightsaber from her pocket and handed it over. She turned to Bant. “When you said somebody in the government was complicit in this…smuggling ring…”

“I didn’t know then, but it makes sense, Ceri,” said Bant. “Draro stunned me in the back. I think she was supposed to turn us both over to the people who were holding Tahl, but she locked us in the closet instead. Do you know who the person they talked about this? Ah…”

“Arbor,” Tahl supplied. Ceri answered in the negative. “I’ve heard the name before, Bant. We’re going to need to consult the Council on this.”

“We need to stop her,” said Ceri suddenly. “You two need to go to the police.”

“We can’t worry about Draro,” Bant interrupted. “Right, Master? We need to start looking for Arbor, and stop her before she finds Obi-Wan!”

“And we need to get off this planet before the bounty hunter does,” Tahl agreed. “I’m sorry Ceri. We may be able to return to assist here on Fadreon. In the meantime, you had better come with us. I’m afraid you won’t be safe now.”

They hurried back to the hangar where Tahl’s ship was docked. No one questioned the Jedi as they boarded the ship and requested to take off as soon as possible.

“It’s going to be a close one,” Tahl muttered.

Bant caught Ceri looking thoughtfully towards the door. “We’ll come back and help them, Ceri,” she offered.

“No,” the Falleen girl said quietly. Both Tahl and Bant turned to look at her.

“Someone needs to stay,” she said, voice growing more confident. “I can raise the alarm. I’m not sure who will believe me, but I can at least make sure they shut down the hangar for a few hours and give you a bit of a head start.”

“That’s dangerous,” Tahl warned.

“I’ll go to the Intersystem representatives first, since we don’t know who else on our police force is involved. They already suspected that something like this was going on. They’ll believe me.”

Tahl nodded. “We’ll notify the Jedi Council and try to ensure that the Senate hears your story as well, Ceri. You only need to raise the alarm, you will not be in this investigation alone.”

There were tears in Ceri’s eyes again. “It’s just so hard to believe,” she mumbled. “I trusted Draro a lot.”

Bant patted her friend’s shoulder. “She might not have wanted to hurt anyone,” Bant reasoned kindly. “She was obviously worried about what would happen to your planet if she didn’t comply. The government turned a blind eye to Arbor’s business here for years, and it sounds like it was a pretty fragile truce. When Tahl and I showed up I bet they started making threats.”

“That doesn’t make what she did okay,” Ceri sniffed.

“No. It definitely doesn’t,” said Bant.

Tahl laid a hand on Bant’s shoulder. “Time to go.”

“Good luck,” Ceri said, wiping her eyes.

“You too,” said Tahl.

Tahl climbed into the cockpit and began preparing the ship to take off. “TooJay,” she called over her shoulder. “Plot me a course to a Jedi-Friendly system where we can contact the Council safely. And make it quick, we need to be gone before Ceri manages to get the hangar shut down.”

The liftoff went smoothly, and Tahl let TooJay handle all the details, and just made her way back to the cabin where Bant was waiting. Tahl sank down onto one of the thin sleeping pallets with a pained sigh. Her leg was still throbbing.

“Let me help, Master,” said Bant, approaching with a medkit. She carefully bandaged the angry welts that had formed around where Tahl had been struck with the electro-whip.

Tahl leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the cool relief of bacta for a moment. She took a deep breath. “You did well, Padawan,”

The corner of a smile tugged at Bant’s mouth. “You think so?”

“Yes, of course.”

Tahl scrubbed a hand across her forehead. Sometimes it was hard to accept that Bant had grown up. Surely knighthood would be hers for the taking as soon as she had completed her coursework and the Force told them both that she was ready. Tahl wouldn’t be surprised if that time came within the year. She was a more reliable and capable mission partner than many Tahl had worked with in the past.

“Where’s TooJay taking us?”

“I didn’t specify. Just the nearest system where we can safely contact the Temple.”

Only a few hours passed before the droid emerged from the cockpit looking smug.

“We’ve successfully dropped out of hyperspace, sir,” said TooJay dutifully. “Now requesting permission to land as we enter orbit around the planet Jaquen.”

* * *

 

Barlen dropped by Obi-Wan’s ICU room again and silently left a sandwich and a juice box on the table, but Qui-Gon didn’t touch them. The hunger that grumbled just beneath his consciousness was just one more annoying detail of this elaborate trick his mind was playing on him. He sat silently by Obi-Wan’s side and waited for the world to feel real again.

Staff were in and out but they never acknowledged Qui-Gon unless his chair was in their way, and that suited him just fine. According to Dr. Tiaurn’s comment, it was approaching 48 hours since Obi-Wan had taken a turn for the worse, and there was still no change.

More footsteps entered the room. Qui-Gon ignored them as usual, until he was startled by a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Oh, Force,” Qui-Gon exhaled when he saw Tahl.

He got wobbly to his feet as she wrapped her arms around him, and the welcome pressure cleared some of the fog in Qui-Gon’s head. He held on just as tightly, resting his head on Tahl’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were coming,”

“Neither did we. How is he?”

“Not good, Tahl.”

They embraced again.

“They said you haven’t rested,” Tahl said. She looked as though she hadn’t rested either, but Qui-Gon didn’t comment.

“Go on,” she whispered. “Let us watch over him for a while.”


	10. Groundswell

The reunion between the two padawans was not as joyful as they might have hoped. Bant tried not to feel a little disappointed as she squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand and received no response. He was startlingly cold.

Bant and Tahl had been taking shifts at his bedside. Qui-Gon hadn’t returned to the hospital since they had arrived – Bant knew that Tahl was on the verge of going to look for him, but privately she wondered if their work wasn’t more important. Bant had been scheduling meetings with the authorities on Jacquen while Tahl handled communications with the Jedi Council. They had been trying not to leave Obi-Wan unguarded, not now that they knew Arbor’s bounty hunter was looking for him.

Tahl walked into the room and set a datapad down on the table with a confident thud.

“I was just coming to tell you something,” said Bant.

Tahl sat down in the extra chair. “You go first.”

“Something doesn’t feel right. I think there’s something wrong with him.”

Tahl rested a hand on Bant’s knee, and nearly whispered, “They think he was probably sick for a long time before Qui-Gon found him. It’s catching up to him now.”

“It’s not that, it’s the Force, Master. Even when you had that collar on, I could still feel you there. It was more like sensing someone who isn’t a Jedi, but everybody leaves some kind of imprint in the energy of a room. Obi-Wan doesn’t.”

Tahl leaned across the table for the datapad she had left there. She paused a moment before handing it to Bant.

“Jenna Zan Arbor,” she said.

“Arbor?” Bant asked. That was the name they had overheard during the rescue on Fadreon. She looked through the mission file Tahl had handed her.

Tahl explained, “The scientist who murdered the senator’s son. The one Adi and Siri faced two years ago.”

Bant swallowed hard. She remembered now – the whole Temple had been talking about that mission after Master Gallia had been captured and experimented on. Siri and a trio of flakey droid dealers had engineered the rescue and Adi had made a full recovery, but they’d heard it had been a near thing.

“The facts line up, I’m afraid. Arbor has a known interest in the Jedi and their powers. The report says she would torture Adi to compel her to reach out into the Force, in order to observe its physical effects.”

“Why cut Obi-Wan off from it then?”

“We don’t know,” said Tahl. “And we don’t know how Blackwater Systems comes into play either. I suspect it is just a front for Arbor Industries’ drug distribution.”

Bant nodded slowly.

“The Healers are due to call once they’ve reviewed the information I sent. If I leave my commlink here, could you answer it?” Tahl asked.

“Are you going to—”

“I just want to make sure he’s alright. I will be back to relieve you in an hour.”

* * *

 

 

Tahl slid the door bolt back with a nudge of the Force and climbed the stairs to Qui-Gon’s rented apartment. She had to steel herself for what she might find inside, but she knew the further that man retreated into his own head, the longer it would take to bring him out again.

Qui-Gon was sitting at the tiny kitchen table, staring at a cold cup of tea.

It wasn’t yet as bad as last time. After months of fruitless searching, and considering the disturbing evidence of their vanished Master-Padawan bond, the Council had officially declared Obi-Wan Killed In Action. The search teams had been called home. Qui-Gon has ignored the summons and pressed on, but when the Council had held a memorial service Tahl had dragged him back, afraid that someday he might regret missing the service.

Perhaps it had been a mistake. Qui-Gon had been somewhat unstable since Obi-Wan’s disappearance, but returning to the Temple sent him spiraling. He’d been catatonic, to the point where he’d been confined to the Mind Healer’s ward. It had been the most difficult time in both of their lives. But the storm had eventually passed, and Tahl was confident this one would too.

Finally Qui-Gon spoke. “What’s the news, then?”

Tahl shook her head. “There isn’t any.”

Qui-Gon made a low rumble in the back of his throat. “That’s what I assumed.”

“Bant’s with him,” Tahl offered. She put a hand over the light switch and noticed all the switches pointing downward. It was far too late in the day for there to be any natural light at the windows. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

Qui-Gon didn’t answer. He cleared his throat again. “The last few times he was lucid, I think he knew me—he believed it was the real me. He knew that he was safe. All this trouble was worth that at least.”

“If he’s confused again when he wakes up, we’ll all be there to help,” said Tahl, flicking on a light and taking a seat at the table. She prodded their pairbond gently in the Force, but Qui-Gon felt hopelessly far away.

Qui-Gon sighed. “Why would the Force give him back to me just to make me watch him die?”

Tahl’s expression turned rapidly into one of deep concern. “You sound like you’ve already given up, Qui.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Qui-Gon snapped. “The Council gave up on him, not me!”

“But what about now?”

Qui-Gon sighed again.

“I’m worried too,” Tahl admitted. “But Obi-Wan is still holding his own. We owe it to him to keep our heads up.”

“Something’s about to give. I can feel it. Something’s wrong,” said Qui-Gon in an emotionless voice. Tahl swallowed hard as she remembered similar words Bant had said.

“I know I should care,” Qui-Gon continued. “But I can’t seem to bother.”

“You care,” Tahl said simply. “Have you rested? At all?”

Qui-Gon shrugged.

“That’s where we’ll start, then.” She took the cold mug of tea out of his hands and set it in the sink. “If you still feel like this after you sleep, we’ll talk about what to do. We don’t have to tell the Council or the Mind Healers yet.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to say something dismissive and Tahl cut him off. “Don’t make me do this alone again, Qui-Gon. It’s not fair.”

“What’s this got to do with you?”

“Go sleep,” she ordered her long-time friend, too tired to explain.

* * *

 

 

Obi-Wan was crying out again. Bant held the hand that wasn’t tethered by wires and tubes, and tried to calm him. His eyes were wide open but he wasn’t awake.

“Qui-Gon,” he whined.

“Obi-Wan, it’s Bant,” the padawan whispered. “It’s okay.”

“Don’t let them hurt me,”

“I won’t.” Bant promised. She could feel his heartbeat fluttering like a bird’s, out of control. The equipment around them began making noise. “It’s okay,” Bant repeated, feeling her own heart thud in her ears. She wanted to comm Qui-Gon and Tahl, but didn’t want to let go of Obi-Wan to do so.

Obi-Wan was rapidly losing whatever small amount of consciousness he’d had. His eyes slid shut again. More alarms joined the din.

Bant was gently pushed out of the way as the room became a blaze of activity. The ICU doctor was there, listing off of meds and instructions—

“Wait.”

Dr. Tiaurn stood at the foot of Obi-Wan's bed, a suspicious frown across her face.

Everyone was watching her expression, waiting for her to speak further.

The ICU doctor said, "Fahra? He's decompensating."

"I don't think that's what's happening at all," said Tiaurn. She shook her head. "Yes, order those drugs, and I want someone ready with a ventilator droid, but no one disturb him until I say the word."

She was watching Obi-Wan's eyes dart back and forth under their lids, as though he were in the middle of a vivid dream.

"Someone get Qui-Gon Jinn."

* * *

 

Lying on his back in the dark room, Qui-Gon felt each of the scars in his mind - the elegant knot at the end of his bond with Yan, formally crimped off and forgotten, unfeeling. The jagged edge that was Feemor, colored by frustration and deep, deep guilt. The tinge of darkness that surrounded Xanatos, their broken bond sharp with white-hot anger. But Obi-Wan...

Obi-Wan had never felt broken, only missing. Gone, he'd assumed, but perhaps just dormant. Because now, Obi-Wan's bond was on fire. Suddenly the Force seemed to swell in Qui-Gon’s chest, screaming out a warning.

Qui-Gon sat up and tried to stand. He heard Tahl’s voice, but it faded into the background as the room warped before his eyes.

 

 

_"Not the brightest, is he?" the rough female voice observed. "It doesn't matter if you struggle, they're just as happy to knock you out before they put it in."_

_"He's not gettin' no tracker now," said someone else, a note of pity in her chuckle._

_"Should've been careful what he wished for."_

_“Shh, he’s just a boy,” a third voice snapped._

_Through a haze of pain and heat, Obi-Wan registered the women’s voices outside of his cell. He had known it was futile, but he just hadn't been able to go quietly as they tried to put a slave implant in him. He had immobilized one of the brutes holding him with the Force, but the other had wrested him to the ground on his stomach and, in his struggle, broke his arm and twisted it until Obi-Wan had blacked out. When he woke up, Obi-Wan was pretty sure he hadn't been given an implant, but he'd received a force-blocking collar and a solitary cell for his troubles._

_The room was barely wide enough for him to stretch his legs out as he sat propped against the wall. It was attached to the open area where he’d been before. There was a little rectangular slot, about eye-level from where he sat on the floor, through which he could still see the other women and children in their bunks. He felt grimy and sore all over. When he glanced down and saw his forearm crooked and swollen to twice its normal diameter, Obi-Wan passed out._

_He came to with fever sweat dripping down his face and a scratching noise outside his door. All the lights were dimmed for the night. He realized that he must have slept through mealtime, and glanced hopefully at the slot in the cell door, wondering if food or water might have been delivered through it – the thought of eating made him want to vomit, but his throat was terribly dry._

_No such luck._

_He slumped back against the wall, defeated, when he heard the scratching noise again. He shook his head as if to himself, dismissing the sound. He was so weak that even this small movement made him dizzy._

_The flap lifted, and he caught a glimpse of the person on the other side. It was the woman who had lulled him to sleep on the first night._

_“Hey – they didn’t feed you, did they?” she asked. A piece of a ration bar appeared through the opening._

_Water? he wanted to ask, but his lips wouldn’t form the word._

_“I haven’t got any,” she said sadly, as if she had read his thoughts. “Looks like it hurts.”_

_There was nothing Obi-Wan could say in response to that._

_“It’s too bad about that,” she said, gesturing to his collar. “You’ll be getting off at the next stop, if that’s any comfort. Same woman always comes for the Force-users.”_

_Obi-Wan didn’t have the mental energy to worry about whether that was good or bad news. Probably bad._

_“Can you try to eat a little?” she coaxed._

_Obi-Wan could not._

_“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”_

_The woman disappeared, but she came back the next night with a little canteen with a few sips of water._

_Days passed in a blurry hell, punctuated by occasional visits from his friend. Finally, the fever broke. His arm still throbbed almost constantly, but Obi-Wan began to think clearly again. He realized that the woman shouldn’t keep risking trying to talk to him, and she definitely shouldn’t be giving him contraband food. He was a Jedi, he thought to himself, and he shouldn’t put others in danger._

_“Go ,” he croaked the next time she appeared at the door, his voice rough with disuse. “Why are you helping me?”_

_“Shh,” she whispered, glancing around. She always seemed to know when the slavers would be gone for a while, but she still kept a careful eye out. “What kind of world would we live in if nobody helped each other?”_

* * *

 

Qui-Gon came to with those words ringing in his ears. Tahl knelt at his side where he’d fallen out of bed. There was no time to explain. Obi-Wan’s end of the bond was a blaze of blinding light.

As they ran towards the hospital, Qui-Gon found three missed transmissions from Bant on his commlink. He didn’t listen to them.

They burst in upon a scene which seemed to be frozen in time. Bant was holding the side rails of Obi-Wan’s bed and concentrating hard, holding the Force up like a shield around them, protecting Obi-Wan from the backlash of the pent-up energy which had been suppressed for so long. A ventilator droid and a nurse with a tray of medications waited motionless, looking to Dr. Tiaurn, whose gaze was trained intently on Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan was lying against the inclined bed, breathing deep and slow. His monitors beeped that his blood pressure was critically low, but instead of the rapid heartbeat and shallow, ragged breathing that had accompanied it before, he seemed calm. He was meditating.

He reached out a hand towards Qui-Gon and Qui-Gon approached, pressing a hand flat against his. He felt a spark of energy as their palms rested against one another. Qui-Gon closed his eyes. He could feel the wave of the Force that made the lights above them flicker. Bant was shielding Obi-Wan from the worst of it.

The wave crested and began to dissipate as Obi-Wan slipped out of his trance. The lights stopped flickering.

“You can let go now, Bant,” said Tahl gently. Bant left her post and went to her master’s side, accepting Tahl’s arm around her shoulders.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s hand go slack and guided it down to the mattress. But this time, Obi-Wan didn’t disappear in the Force. A tiny fledgling Force presence remained in Qui-Gon’s mind, filling the gap where their bond had been. It was small, and it was tired, but it was there.

Even the non-Force sensitives seemed to sense the tension shift in the room. Realizing that the danger had passed, they backed up to let the Jedi approach.

Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered and opened. His gaze met Qui-Gon’s first. Qui-Gon took his face in both hands and pressed a kiss into his forehead. Then Bant pulled him into a hug while Tahl ran her fingers through his hair.

He was exhausted. They all were.

Tahl’s hand found Qui-Gon’s and gave it a tight squeeze. They were going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

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